Vestige
by Contraltissimo
Summary: Post-movie. After a long hunting exercise with Spitelout, Hiccup & co. return to find Berk deserted...but not empty. Can they survive long enough to find their tribe? T for violence, scariness, booze, mortality. It's gonna get ugly... Read and review!
1. At Last

**Chapter 1 - At Last**

_This is Berk._

__

It snows nine months of the year, and hails the other three.

Any food that grows here is tough and tasteless.

The people that grow here are even more so.

The only upsides are the pets.

Where some people have ponies or parrots...

_...we have dragons._

_

* * *

_

A small dragon known as a Terrible Terror landed flat on the sleeping boy's face, chittering loudly.

* * *

_Most people would be put off housing with vicious, fire-breathing reptiles._

_

* * *

_

The Terror gave the boy a friendly flame-burst hello before fluttering up to the shoulder of its master: a burly, dark-haired man sporting a scar from brow to cheek on the right side of his face. The boy took him in blearily.

* * *

_Not us. We're Vikings._

_

* * *

_

The boy rubbed his face, checking to make sure his eyebrows were still there.

* * *

_We can handle it._

_

* * *

_

"Rise and shine, Hiccup! Time to get moving," said the man. He moved to the next sleeping form with similar encouragements. The boy sat up with a weary sigh, rubbing his eyes against the flickering firelight.

* * *

_That's me. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. I've never met a dragon I didn't like._

_

* * *

_

Hiccup swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached down, sleepily fumbling for his prosthesis.

* * *

_Well... actually there was this _one_ dragon... as big as a mountain, with a _really_ bad attitude. So terrible we called him _Death_. He and I had a little disagreement over the summer._

_

* * *

_

Grateful that he'd repeated the process so many times he could do it in his sleep, Hiccup closed his eyes again as he settled the stump of his left calf into the attachment. His hands automatically located the straps and cinched them tightly around his leg.

* * *

_But that dragon came off much worse than I did. And now my village is safer for it. The Chief was proud of me that day. Even better... so was my dad._

_It's just lucky for me they're one and the same._

_

* * *

_

Prosthetic foot securely attached, Hiccup reached into the basket under his bed to pull out his belt and his vest. And an overcoat. And some mittens. And an extra sock for his right foot.

* * *

_So now instead of spending all our time defending ourselves against dragon raids, we get to do other things... like spend three weeks cooped up in a snowbound lodge in the freezing cold, learning the finer points of tracking and hunting._

_

* * *

_

"Let's go! We're burning daylight!" urged the man.

"How do you burn daylight when it's still _dark?_" groaned a gangly boy with long blonde hair. He nestled deeper under his covers.

"You're the expert—you tell me," the man answered, and he whipped the blanket away. The boy clamped into a tight cringe and shivered against the sudden chill. "Up, now! Speck, go get them up in the loft," the man added to his dragon, pointing.

The Terrible Terror happily obliged and flapped away.

* * *

_The big guy ripping the blankets off my friends is Spitelout Jorgenson. My dad's right-hand man. He's been teaching Vikings how to hunt as long as I can remember._

_

* * *

_

"Is breakfast ready yet?" asked a muscular, dark-haired boy.

* * *

_That's his son Snotlout._

_

* * *

_

"After we pack up," said Spitelout, walking over to another bed.

* * *

_Over there is Fishlegs._

_

* * *

_

Spitelout gave the rotund young man yet another shake.

"Just five more minutes..." Fishlegs murmured.

And then Fishlegs lost his blanket, too.

The gangly blonde finally sat up and blinked, reaching for his socks. "This is really the last day, right? I'm getting kind of sick of waking up to you guys' faces."

* * *

_That's Tuffnut. His twin sister Ruffnut is even more charming than he is._

_

* * *

_

There came a cry of disgust from above, and a second later Speck the Terrible Terror came sailing out of the loft, not entirely of his own accord. He landed on Tuffnut's head with a squeal.

* * *

_Ruffnut's been sharing the upstairs with the only other girl to come on this little excursion._

_

* * *

_

"Where's my saddle?"

Hiccup heard that voice and the sleep fled from his eyes. He tried his best not to appear as disheveled as he felt.

* * *

_Astrid._

_

* * *

_

She stood lightly at the top of the stairs, her sunny hair bound in a thick, hurried plait. Hiccup was just admiring the way one loose hank of it always fell across her eyes when he realized he was putting his mittens on the wrong hands.

"They're all by the door," answered Spitelout. "I want an early start; ready your mounts soon as you can."

"You going out, Astrid?" Hiccup asked as he pulled his boot on.

"Yeah..." she answered.

Hiccup sprang from his bed and moved toward the door to get his saddle.

"...Just as soon as I get the rest of my things packed. I'll be right out," Astrid finished, and disappeared to the back of the loft.

"That's the way, Hiccup. Good lad," said Spitelout, grabbing Hiccup's saddle and thrusting the bundle of cloth and leather trappings into Hiccup's arms. The old hunter slid back the bolt and opened the door in one fluid motion, briefly flooding the lower room with a chill.

Hiccup glanced hurriedly toward the loft. "Ah, okay, I guess I'll see you—outside," he called back as Spitelout shunted him out into the snow.

"Need any heavy lifting there, Astrid?" Hiccup heard Snotlout say before the door was closed and all sound was lost.

* * *

_Yep._

_That was Astrid._

_

* * *

_

With a sigh, Hiccup hefted the bundle in his arms and squinted into the dimness. Stark pines loomed in the pre-dawn haze, awash with frozen waves of white.

* * *

_Okay, so maybe this isn't _exactly_ Berk..._

__

This is actually the island of Forget Me. Great name, I know, but it fits. We call it that because that's what everyone who sets foot here wants to do. It's the coldest, wettest, most miserable rock along the entire Meridian of Misery.

So much snow falls here that they say the ground underneath has never actually seen daylight.

_Do I believe it?_

_

* * *

_

Hiccup picked a beeline course to where his mount would be, and started wading.

* * *

_Yes I do._

_

* * *

_

After only a few steps, his foot began to squeak. The mainspring always squeaked when it was cold. The animals would hear every step of his approach.

Well, every _other_ step.

Hiccup's prosthetic left foot had been needing some refitting. The lower bolt was beginning to rust again. But there was time enough to worry about fixing that back home. For now he was just pleased with how well the snowshoe attachment was working out. He had built it just for this hunting trip.

Frosty moonlight peeked through the pines, silvering Hiccup's breath as he came to the clearing where the animals had bedded down.

He saw the snow-dusted mounds of their bodies, gently rising and falling amid the white drifts. One of the pack-Nadders lifted its scaly, horny head at his approach. It eyed him sleepily for only a moment, yawning a huge, toothy yawn and sticking out its forked tongue before nestling back down among its fellows.

* * *

_By the way, Berk's kind of short on horses._

_

* * *

_

_Crunch_-_squeak_-_crunch_-_squeak_-_crunch_... Hiccup passed the frills of the rest of the Deadly Nadders, jutting from the snow like inverted icicles. He passed the ridged horns and huge form of Snotlout's dragon, a blood-red Monstrous Nightmare named Fireworm, followed by a smaller, snoring mass that could only have been Miniboss, the Gronckle that belonged to Fishlegs.

At the far end of the temporary nest, Hiccup found the Thorston twins' two-headed Hideous Zippleback, but saw no sign of his own dragon.

"Toothless?" he called softly, "Come on, bud, we get to go home today..."

Nothing.

Hiccup shivered. The morning was so still. Hesitant to disturb the brooding silence, he whispered a little louder, "_Toothless!_"

A barely-audible churning of wet snow made Hiccup turn. He spotted two green eyes gazing languidly out at him from beneath one of Fireworm's enormous wings. The head the eyes belonged to inched a little farther out of the snow, revealing charcoal-black scaly skin under the thick white frosting.

"There you are," Hiccup smiled wearily. He retraced the path he had ploughed through the drifts until he came even with his Night Fury. Dropping saddle and harness to the ground (and watching them disappear into a drift), he held out a friendly hand. "You ready to go home, Toothless?"

Toothless shook the snow from his head and auricles, spattering Hiccup slightly, and edged forward for a scratch under the chin.

"Come here, let's get you strapped up..." said Hiccup, moving back a pace.

The Night Fury uncurled and stood to stretch, smoke and steam wafting up from the fading bed of embers the dragon had laid for himself the night before. It was a convenient way to keep warm in lieu of roost or cave.

Arching his back so high into the Nightmare's wing that he woke her up, Toothless shook the remaining snow from his wings and came to stand ready before Hiccup. He knew the routine.

Fireworm merely shifted with a grunt and burst into a mild orange flame.

"_Ooookay_ let's back up a little, c'mere Toothless... here we go..." Hiccup quickly snatched his saddle from the snow and moved to a safe distance. Toothless followed with a reluctant little grumble as behind him, Miniboss snuggled closer to share in Fireworm's warmth.

The innate ability to ignite her own skin for brief periods of time had made the Monstrous Nightmare quite popular among the other dragons during the dark, frigid hunting trip. Occasionally the feeling was even mutual.

But despite the immense appeal of returning to nestle under the great flaming wing, Toothless could not slight Hiccup's call. He could never let down the human on whom he depended for so much.

* * *

_Oh, and there's one more thing you need to know..._

_

* * *

_

He stood obligingly still and steady as Hiccup sorted out the bundle and began fastening on harness, saddle, and _prosthesis_.

Hiccup was not the only amputee on the expedition. Consequently, getting Toothless saddled for the day was a complicated affair. But the heat and glow from the adjacent combusting Monstrous Nightmare were comforting during the long process in the chill morning. Hiccup wondered if perhaps he worked slowly enough, Astrid would finish packing in the meanwhile, and they could have some time to chat when she did come out...

"How does a _Night Fury_ hide so well in the snow anyway, huh?" Hiccup mused to his black dragon. He gave Toothless another scratch as he assembled the intricate rig that would allow him to provide movement and flexibility to a false left tail-fin, via the stirrup.

Toothless' own left tail-fin, crucial to his balance in the air, had been lost months previously—when Hiccup himself had brought the dragon down by means of a mad, mechanized bolas-launcher, as his village was under raid.

But in aiming to kill, he had only managed to make the creature lame.

But the enmity between Vikings and dragons was now long gone and past, which was a good thing, as it had taken the strength of both sides to defeat the _Death_.

Hiccup's eyes drifted to his memento of the incident, now strapped to his leg and enabling him to walk.

For in aiming to save, Toothless had only managed to salvage his human friend.

But however disabled each was on his own, when they were together, with the help of the harness Hiccup had designed, they could move with the grace of a swan and the speed of a falcon.

After securing the fin's control-lines along the length of Toothless' tail, Hiccup eased himself back to his feet, leaning against the dragon for support. He winced at the pressure in his calf.

Toothless turned his head and rumbled in concern.

"No, I'm okay, bud," Hiccup grunted through his teeth, hobbling toward the dragon's head, "I'm good—it'll stop in a minute. It always does."

Toothless gave him a lick, and Hiccup felt the slobber immediately freeze to his skin.

"Thank you for that," he said, rubbing his cheek.

There was a crunching of snowy footfalls.

"_This_ one is _your_ saddle, _that_ one is _my_ saddle!"

"Are your eyes painted on your head? This one is _mine!_"

Tuffnut and Ruffnut stomped past, kicking up the snow in a flurry and properly shattering the silence. Hiccup watched them as he worked. They would take their identical saddles to their Zippleback to settle the matter, and each of the dragon's two heads, Belch and Flint, would sniff out its own saddle—or whichever one it wanted, which preference Hiccup suspected changed every few days...

The twins were followed a few minutes later by a drowsy Fishlegs, who groaned when he saw his Gronckle snuggled up against the flaming Nightmare, the snow steaming off his knobbly brown hide. "Great. I'll never get Miniboss out of there," he complained to Hiccup.

"Well, Fireworm's been at it for a while," Hiccup reassured him, "I'm sure she'll burn out soon."

"I bet it's because he's got dragon-lice. They burrow into a dragon's skin through the cracks between the scales, and they suck its blood, and the only way to get rid of them is to burn them out," said Fishlegs, "I bet _Monstrous Nightmares_ never get dragon-lice..."

Hiccup could think of no relevant response to this. "Ah, so did Astrid have an extra lot of packing to do?"

"No, she was ta-ta-talking to Spitelout," Fishlegs yawned. And he circled wide to try to approach his dragon from the coolest side. "Come on, Miniboss, time to wake up..."

Hiccup sighed. He was just about finished with the harness anyway. He swiveled the stirrup, testing its connections, and watched the tail-fin flex and flare in response. Good.

Content the job was done, he moved to face his Night Fury. "Let's go, bud," he said, rumpling the dragon's auricles. Toothless rumbled happily and nuzzled at Hiccup's ear, and the two of them started back through the pines, Toothless mowing a path through the occasional deep drift with a blue-white stream of flame.

The sun finally crested the distant mountains, throwing the surrounding woods into a slightly less dismal color as Hiccup and Toothless reached the lodge.

"We'll be ready to go in just a bit, Toothless," said Hiccup, "Just wait right here—I'll find us some breakfast." Toothless purred and flamed a wide circle of earth nearby, vaporizing the snow. He lay down to warm up on the steamy, blackened patch as Hiccup reached for the door.

Astrid flung it open before he got there.

"_Well what else can I do?_" she yelled over her shoulder before crashing into Hiccup and bowling him over with her saddle. He landed flat on a drift and sank, cutting a comically perfect silhouette in the snow.

"Hiccup! I—I didn't see you there," she stammered.

"Well, that's understandable," Hiccup wheezed, rubbing the back of his head, "I _am_ a whole foot shorter than I used to be."

Astrid rolled her eyes and pulled him to his feet. She muttered a quiet "Sorry," and gave him the small courtesy of a smile at his pun before tromping off to find her dragon.

"It's not funny anymore, Hiccup," groaned Snotlout. He sauntered out the door with Fireworm's saddle over his shoulder and followed after Astrid.

Hiccup brushed the snow from his clothes and watched them walk away, the sun turning Astrid's hair to gold and her breath to heather-scented dragon-fire... and sighed again.

Feeling green eyes boring into his skull, he turned to see Toothless staring at him with interest.

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" Hiccup flustered, and retreated into the lodge.

He found a brief respite when Spitelout immediately handed him a plate of warm sausage and biscuits and a mug of delicious-smelling broth.

"Perfect timing, Hiccup! Eat it while it's hot," said Spitelout, which Hiccup knew to mean _Eat it within thirty seconds_. "Is your dragon ready to go?" Spitelout continued.

"Yeah, he's outside," said Hiccup, shoving some sausage into his mouth. He wished he had more time to enjoy it.

"Good. I'm going to get the Nadders. Not for you, Speck!" He paused to shoo his Terror away from the steaming food on the table, and turned to Hiccup again, "When you're done with that, start getting the dragons' food from the cellar."

"Mm-hm," Hiccup nodded, his cheeks bulging.

As Spitelout gathered up harnesses and leads, the twins tumbled through the door, looking winded. Tuffnut laughed and mashed his sister's helmet down over her eyes. "I told you that was my saddle!" he crowed.

Ruffnut's only answer for her brother was a swift punch in the gut.

"_Oough_—hey look, food," Tuffnut grunted as he doubled over.

"Later, Tuffnut," said Spitelout, tossing him a harness, "you come with me. Ruffnut, eat, then help Hiccup feed the dragons."

"My pleasure," Ruffnut purred, snatching a plate and making sure it passed close enough to Tuffnut for him to smell. She savored a succulent bite of sausage with a hum of pleasure.

"Speck! Come!" Spitelout called as he slung his quiver and bow. The little dragon zoomed up to his perch on the hunter's brawny shoulder, and Spitelout walked out the door, Tuffnut following with a groan.

Hiccup softened his biscuit (which seemed more brick than bread) in his broth before swallowing it whole. After three more gulps to empty his mug, he headed back outside and was promptly confronted with the twins' big green Zippleback towering over him. One of its heads seemed to have caught the scent of the sausage through a crack in the roof.

Beyond the enormous Zippleback, Toothless raised his head and thrummed expectantly.

"We're not going fishing today, bud," said Hiccup, circling the building, "Just gonna eat and leave. Got breakfast for you right here, hang on..." He came to the large hatch at the back of the lodge and pulled the heavy doors aside.

Hiccup took a deep breath at the entrance. Stairs were a lot harder than they used to be. He rolled his left calf, centering its weight. The mainspring shrieked with the cold.

Carefully descending the steps into the cellar he was immediately plunged into darkness. He felt his way gingerly along the wall, waiting for his eyes to adjust until he could see the glimmer of chains and hooks from the ceiling. There, hanging near the corner, was the young boar he had brought down the day before with only _one arrow_.

Before this outing, Hiccup had never been very fond of the business of hunting wild game—he much preferred fishing—but in this instance he felt immensely proud, and couldn't wait to tell his father. During gutting, Spitelout had even helped him cut off the largest tusk (which was still quite small) for a trophy. Hiccup honestly hadn't considered keeping it, but he thought it was something his father might like to see. Presently it was tucked away in the basket under his bed. He was still working on boring a hole through it to make a necklace.

He hefted the boar down from its hook. It was only slightly frozen, but Toothless would be able to make do.

As soon as he lugged it above ground and around the corner, three dragon heads turned intently in his direction. Trained manners threatened to evaporate as they smacked their great jaws.

"Toothless, this one's yours, bud," Hiccup called. He edged between the Night Fury and the Zippleback, making sure the latter wouldn't try anything. "Bagged it just for you. _Ready?_" Hiccup grinned exaggeratedly.

Toothless' eyes widened as his whole body became tense. He knew this game. Though they usually played it with fish.

Hiccup swung the boar into the air with a mighty heave. "_Flame it!_" he shouted.

There was a blue-white bolt of heat as Toothless flash-fried the quarry in midair. He then caught it squarely in his jaws and began happily ripping it into bite-sized pieces. Contrary to what his name suggested, Toothless' two fine rows of shimmering teeth were quite effective to this end.

"Good boy," said Hiccup.

"Glad to see you found him something big enough to actually _hit_," Ruffnut tittered through a mouthful of biscuit.

Hiccup turned to see her standing near the door, scratching Belch behind the horns, her three long, blonde, bob-ended plaits swaying indifferently. He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She swallowed and started around the lodge with a scoff. "Really, you don't remember the time you tried it with a _mackerel_, and your dragon missed and blew a hole in my roof?"

"He didn't _miss_," said Hiccup, following after her, "He just... used too much fire, and..."

"Blew a hole in my roof, yeah," Ruffnut finished, ducking into the cellar and disappearing into the darkness.

Hiccup crossed his arms above her. "Oh, okay, so what was it when _your_ dragon knocked out the smithy wall?"

"That was Tuff's dragon."

"They're the _same dragon_..."

"Whatever." There was a clinking of chains from the shadows. "Hey, help me with this," she said, coming back into view, dragging a deer by the antlers. She hoisted them up and Hiccup reached down to grab them.

"Ruffnut... Astrid seemed a little, ah, _irate_ earlier," Hiccup panted as he hauled the animal up onto the snow, "Was something... bothering her? Or..."

"Ha!" Ruffnut laughed, pushing from below as she came up the stairs, "She's just sore she's not as good a shot as _me_," she smirked.

"Well nobody's as good a shot as you," said Hiccup. For Ruffnut had shown the greatest skill with the bow during the hunting trip.

And then Hiccup recalled that Astrid had—surprisingly—shown the worst.

"Oh..." Hiccup grimaced with realization, "she's still upset about that, huh?" He took two of the deer's legs.

"_Ugh_, actually she won't shut up about it," Ruffnut groaned, taking the other two. They began to lug the animal around the lodge, toward the waiting Zippleback. "Every night, '_I need to train harder! I need to train harder!_' I swear she started saying it in her sleep last night."

"But she's done so well with everything else—why's she being so hard on herself?" said Hiccup.

"Hey, Miss Perfect finally finds out she's mortal? That's gotta be a shock. But it's not my problem. Not after today." She gave a single, satisfied snort of laughter.

The Zippleback chirruped and chittered in anticipation when the carcass came into view. Ruffnut and Hiccup counted to three and lobbed it, Ruffnut supplying the magic words, "_Get it!_" at which consent the two heads darted in for the meat, fangs glistening.

Hiccup looked away before they could snap the deer in half, and saw Fishlegs leading his slightly singed Gronckle through the pines, both of them yawning.

Miniboss curled up to doze beside Toothless while Fishlegs followed his fellow trainees back around the lodge. "When Spitelout took my cousin Foxtoes on _h-h-his_ first hunting trip," Fishlegs began with another yawn, "they weren't _nearly_ this busy." He shivered at the cold and gave a very violent sneeze as Ruffnut disappeared into the cellar again.

"Well they never did it with dragons before," said Hiccup, "That's a lot of extra stomachs to feed."

"Yeah, but dragons can feed _themselves_," said Fishlegs, "We should have just let them go fishing like usual. It probably would have been better for their diet, too." He looked thoughtful.

"I think they'll be all right if they skip it for just _one day_," said Hiccup, "Besides, I don't think Spitelout wanted to spend another hour at the coast for that."

Until today, Spitelout had allotted some time each morning and afternoon for the dragons to feed, skimming fish from the ocean along a bleak stand of cliffs to the north. But these meal breaks took precious hours away from his carefully planned hunting exercises. All other hours in the day were consequently crammed all the tighter with instruction and field work.

Keeping them even busier was the added exploratory practice of hunting _in tandem_ with their dragons, which no one from Berk had ever done before, and which everyone seemed to think Hiccup, as the first dragon-rider, knew all about. However, aside from helping Toothless to balance while skimming for cod, mackerel and the occasional young seal, Hiccup knew about as much of how dragons could stalk their prey as Toothless knew about bows and arrows.

But they had made a little progress. The easy part had been getting their dragons to refrain from immediately devouring the game they brought down. The hard part had been putting out the fires, or, in a few cases, locating the pieces of a recently detonated kill.

Astrid had actually done quite well hunting with her dragon, Quill, who was a Deadly Nadder and could forego the use of fire altogether, instead slinging barbs from his tail with clean, deadly accuracy. In her mind however, this still did not redeem her from her awful bow-work, which she found very little personal time to improve upon, with how busy Spitelout kept everyone.

Now on the final day of the trip, the old hunter was taking special pains to ensure no time was wasted. There were supplies to load and equipment to clean, meat to pack, and a very long way to go before they would reach their village again. The previous day, in an exhausting flurry of tracking and whispers in the endless snow, Spitelout had guided his trainees in trapping and shooting enough game to supply the dragons with a ready-to-eat breakfast, in order to expedite their imminent departure.

It was this stockpile of meat that Hiccup, Ruffnut and Fishlegs now found themselves lugging out of the cellar. Together, the three of them hauled out five more deer, another boar, two foxes, a number of hares, and some poor mangled thing that might have been a puffin at some point. (Unable to land an arrow, Astrid had resorted to her natural axe-throwing abilities for that one.)

Fishlegs had excelled at trapping small animals, and most of these went to Miniboss, finally stirring the Gronckle to full wakefulness. But the larger game was laid out ready for when Spitelout, Snotlout, Tuffnut and Astrid returned with Fireworm and the Nadders.

The dragons at the lodge eyed the meat fixedly, a smorgasbord seemingly going to waste on the snow, and the three young hunters decided that, although their dragons had just been fed, and were very well trained besides, someone had best keep watch until the others got back.

"Well I've still got some packing to do, so I nominate one of you guys," said Ruffnut cheerily. She slapped them both on the back and strode into the lodge.

Somewhere in the snow-dampened silence, a bird sang.

Fishlegs shuffled one foot in the snow. "Uh, would you mind if... I mean, could you..." He stepped toward the lodge. "I need to pack too," he muttered, and followed after Ruffnut.

"Hey yeah sure thing, guys," said Hiccup glumly. He had as much packing to do as they did. But he remained patiently standing between the dragons and the food, morosely shooing Flint away from the nearest deer carcass now and again.

The fifth time he did this, he stepped a bit off, and felt another bolt of pressure shoot up his left calf. Just catching himself from falling over, he gritted his teeth and bent down to squeeze the cramp from his muscles.

His leg wasn't hurting as much as it had in the summer, just after his injury. But every now and then he still felt strange phantom pains from a foot that wasn't there anymore. The episode passed after a few seconds and Hiccup stood up straight. Mostly he was just glad no one was around to see this just now. These moments were debilitating and made him feel pathetic. Gobber, his mentor at the smithy back home and twice an amputee himself, had assured him that these pangs would go away in time, but Hiccup had failed to ask him _how long_ a time that might be.

Shortly Ruffnut emerged from the lodge, her supply-basket crammed near to bursting in her arms. Fishlegs followed closely behind her with his own basket, and they went to their respective dragons to secure the loads to their saddles.

"And they're one of the only flowers to bloom in the winter," Fishlegs was saying, "I knew they weren't mayweed flowers, and I knew you liked those best, but they looked sort of the same, and they looked so nice anyway that... I gathered these for you."

Fishlegs held a small bundle of snowdrops in one portly hand.

Off in the trees, the bird trilled a few more notes... and then broke into a full-blown aria.

"Uh, who started the rumor that I like flowers?" said Ruffnut. Her eyes turned glassy and her expression flattened as she strapped her basket down over the Zippleback's broad, mottled back.

Fishlegs said nothing, though the proffered bouquet seemed to go a little limp in his grasp.

Hiccup coughed and shifted his footing, squeaking on the left side. "Ah, well, I've got some packing to do myself, so, I'll just..." Finishing the sentence in mute gesticulation, he hurried inside the lodge and shut the door. The others could supervise Flint from here.

Once inside, he pulled his basket out from under his bed and dumped its contents on the bedclothes, accidentally spilling his quiver of arrows across the floor in the process. Hiccup had always considered himself more tolerant than most, but Fishlegs' resolute awkwardness during the three cramped weeks was beginning to wear on even him. Or it was contagious. Either way, he was looking forward to sleeping alone in his own room tonight.

With a sigh he bent to gather the arrows. He then swept the room for a few more articles—his draftbook and markers from a shelf, his cloak from the hook by the door—and added these to the pile, blinking at how lightly he had packed after all. After arranging each item in snug parallels to the next, he rolled the lot of them up in the blanket and shoved the bundle into his basket, fastening the lid down tight.

When he walked outside, the bird was still singing. Ruffnut stood facing the lodge, stroking Flint's head, while Fishlegs had become very interested in double-checking the straps of Miniboss' saddle. Both of them wore expressions similar to the kind one might get from wearing socks and stepping in something wet.

In the pines beyond, Snotlout and Tuffnut approached, discussing what first to do with their liberation upon reaching the village. Between them they led five Deadly Nadders and a Monstrous Nightmare closer to their breakfast.

His arms full of basket, Hiccup squeaked his way over to where Toothless lay curled on his ember-bed. It wasn't until he began strapping down his load that he finally spotted Astrid. She and Spitelout stood farther behind the approaching dragons, a bit off the trail and into the woods. Spitelout's bow was in Astrid's hands, his arms around her shoulders and his head next to hers as they both squinted down the length of an arrow.

She let fly into the trees behind the lodge. _Thock_ into a trunk went the arrow, and the chirping stopped.

Hiccup saw the bird's silhouette detach from a branch and flap into the pink sky. It gained a few wingbeats before another arrow whistled in, dispatching it in mid-flight.

Looking back to the woods, Hiccup saw the bow now being lowered in Spitelout's hands. "Fetch, Speck," he heard the hunter say. The Terrible Terror chittered and leapt from his master's shoulder, blowing little flames of delight as he zoomed into the trees.

Spitelout started toward the lodge, leaving Astrid standing alone. Hiccup saw her eyes close and her fists clench before the approaching Nadders and Nightmare obscured his view. They were hungry, and they let the hunters know it.

Hiccup left his basket half-strapped and went to help the others keep them in line. Ruffnut helped too, Belch and Flint looking on in devastation as the remaining meat was divvied out to the other dragons.

"And then I'll teach Fireworm how to draw my name so she can burn the biggest graffiti ever on the south cliff," Snotlout continued to Tuffnut, "And after that, me and Dogsbreath are gonna rematch you at bashyball. I will pummel you into the ground," he said dangerously, "With my _face_." He pointed a stout finger at his burly mug, grinning wickedly.

"Right," sneered Tuffnut, "Yeah, after me and Speedifist mop the floor—_with your face_... _and_ his—you know what I want? Bread. Just a loaf of bread. No more of that hardtack stuff your dad brought." He stuck out his tongue and made a horrible gurgling sound as he pantomimed throwing up. "I can't _believe_ those biscuits were the only food he brought along for this whole trip," he grimaced, "Why would he _do_ that?"

"Didn't I ever tell you?" asked Spitelout, making the boys turn, "Nothing motivates good hunting like bad rations! Though if I'd had _my_ way we'd have brought nothing at all. In any case I'd say it's worked out, with how well you've done, Tuffnut." He thumped his pupil on the back, beaming, and then turned at the sound of his returning Terror.

"Your dad's sick," muttered Tuffnut.

"You have no idea," sighed Snotlout.

Speck fluttered down onto Spitelout's arm and obediently handed over the spitted redwing. He pawed his master's sheepskin bracer and chittered in hungry anticipation.

"Where's the other arrow?" Spitelout asked in exaggerated shock. Speck looked confused, his yellow eyes popping curiously. He nipped at the bird.

"Ah-ah-ah, not yet," Spitelout pulled it away, "Arrow. Arrow back. Go get it." He pointed into the trees where Astrid's arrow had landed. "Arrow."

Speck flew away again, a little less spring in his wings this time.

Hiccup finished strapping down his basket just in time to see Astrid slip into the lodge. He wished there was something he could do for her, even if only to cheer her up for a while, but no bright ideas came to his mind. Even so, he found himself walking blankly back toward the building.

And for the second time that morning, Astrid threw the door open just before he could reach it. "Hiccup, is this yours?" She held a small white object wrapped in a leather cord.

"Oh..." Hiccup started as he realized it was his boar-tusk, "Where was it?"

"On the floor. Here you go." She dumped it into his reaching hand and walked back through the door.

Hiccup looked back at his dragon and his basket. Toothless shook his head with a snort, his shrewd green eyes burning holes in Hiccup's forehead.

"Hey, Astrid?" Hiccup piped up, following her inside, "Ah, my stuff's all strapped down already—do you think, maybe, this could go in your basket? Just until we get home?"

Astrid stopped halfway up the stairs and turned. She looked weary. For one terrifying moment, Hiccup wondered wildly why of all the things he could have done he had decided to _ask her a favor_...

But she smiled a friendly smile and descended a few steps. "Sure," she said, and Hiccup handed the boar-tusk up to her.

The only sound was the crackling of the fire as Astrid ascended the steps once more. Hiccup racked his brains in the disquieting closeness of the structure. It had been so much easier to talk to her before this whole stupid training exercise, back when she was still perfect at everything.

But as long as he was here he figured he may as well test the water. "That was amazing the way you and Quill took down that stag the other day," he said.

"Heh, thanks," came Astrid's voice from the back of the loft, "But he really did most of the work on that one." He could hear her stuffing her basket.

So far so good.

"The antlers look pretty cool tied to the top of your axe-shaft," Hiccup went on.

"You think so?" There was a pause in the sound upstairs. Hiccup imagined she had stopped to take a look at her handiwork.

The silence carried on a little too long.

"Did Ruff put you up to this?" Astrid finally asked.

"Up... to what now?" Hiccup thought fast. He could salvage this if it went wrong...

The sounds of packing resumed above, a bit more vigorously than before. "I think," said Astrid, her voice venomously calm, "you should just drop it until after I've had some decent time to train back home."

"Train? But... you've done so well with everything, and—"

"Would you _cut it out?_" she snapped, her sharp footsteps pounding the upper boards until her head appeared over the edge of the loft. "You _know_ I can't shoot worth sheep-snot so stop trying to tell me otherwise!" And she disappeared again.

"Astrid, I'm _not_ telling you otherwise—" _That was stupid._ "I mean—you _have_ done well with everything else, you've done _perfect_ with everything else, tracking, field-dressing—"

"That's great. I'll go down in history as the Viking who could skin an entire moose in twelve minutes." Her voice was colder than the ice outside.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit for—I mean—" Hiccup sighed. _Dat-da-daa_, he thought to himself, _he was dead_. "I just wanted to cheer you up," he admitted.

"Well I appreciate that thought," said Astrid flatly, "But I think you should save any praise for when I actually deserve it. You won't have to wait long."

She appeared over the edge of the loft again, her basket bulging in her arms. "In the meantime," she continued, "if you want to help me, you can haul this out for me." And she tossed the basket down to him.

Hiccup wasn't quite ready for it, and it squashed him to the floor.

Astrid descended the stairs with her axe, the only item too big to fit in her basket, and walked unceremoniously out the door.

Very slowly, Hiccup rolled the basket off his chest and sat up with a groan. _He wouldn't have to wait long, huh?_ he thought to himself. He certainly _hoped_ that was the case. He didn't think he could survive very much more of this new, _mere mortal_ Astrid.

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_Author's notes_: Holy. Uncooperative. Website. Batman. Great honk, what _ridiculous_ modifications I've had to make to port this over from DA...

*cough*

Anyway... right, like I know anything about hunting... ._.;; I just figured, hey, cold air sinks, right? Why not store meat in a cellar?

Also... I've read a few HTTYD books, and _Horrorcow_ was a _Basic Brown_. But in here, Fishlegs rides a _Gronckle_. ;)

What. I took some liberties.

Now... **Some** of you may know where this story is going. You know who you are. To you I ask that you _please_ say nothing _spoilerish_ in any comments you may wish to leave! Thank you kindly. ^_^

For the rest of you, I must warn you, this chapter may have been a total (if rather _long_) freebie, but beyond this point, this fic is going all sorts of horrible places that no fic should ever have to go. So, not to sound like Lemony Snicket here, but anyone looking for happy-go-funtimes high-flying skippy adventure should just leave. Like right now. I'm serious.

I am rating this fiction **T for Teen**, for reasons of

Violence ( XO ) ...  
Scariness ( O_O;; ) ...  
Booze ( °_o ) ... and  
Mortality ( x_x )

You have all been warned. :)

Oh, and one more thing-I had to slow-roast this baby for a _long time_ before I deemed it ready for posting, and that will probably be the case with the next one, too. But rest assured I'm workin' on it! :)

Thanks for reading, everyone! ^_^

[[See illustration for this chapter on my Deviant Art account: http : / / contraltissimo . deviantart . com / art / Burning - Daylight - 169736337]]


	2. Berk

**_Author's Notes_: Howdy my Fan Fiction Dot Net Peeps. Sorry I've been gone so long. I have two very good excuses...**

**First I was busy:**

**http : / / contraltissimo . deviantart . com / gallery / # / d3046mw**

**and then I got distracted:**

**http : / / contraltissimo . deviantart . com / gallery / # / d3195j0**

**This second chapter has actually been ready to go for a couple of days, and I was going to wait to post it until my good friend Foxikun had finished drawing her illustration for it. But Foxikun is rather swamped at the moment, and so we came to the agreement that I would post it now and wait for the illustration later. Because I know for a fact that a few of you were wanting to _eat my head_ if I didn't post this soon. o_o**

**Anyway, when Foxikun's beautiful artwork becomes available, I will post the URL here. :)**

**[EDIT] - Foxikun's illustration now available! - http : / / foxikun . deviantart . com / gallery / # / d354m4n - [END EDIT]**

* * *

**_Heads Up_: I have this thing with parental proper nouns... when the word 'Mom' or 'Dad' is used as if it's a _name_... I capitalize it. I just do. So... sorry if it all looks inconsistent at first glance. There really is a method to the madness. Wut.**

**Also I took some geographical liberties with the village layout becaaauuusse I wrote much of this before the DVD came out, during which time I didn't let myself study any of the pirated footage floating around the interwebs. I just had to go from my very questionable memory. And the video game.**

**[EDIT] - Aaaand I've just finished reading book _six_ of the How To Train Your Dragon series, and have found the isle of Forget Me to be inhabited. Ignore that. In _this _story, it's a hunting ground... that lies to the _north_ of Berk. DEAL WITH IT. - [END EDIT]**

**Oh yeah! And I forgot some minor character-introduction hooplah in the first chapter, soooo went back and added that too. Just had to make sure everybody knew Ruffnut had three long braids. Derp. _**

**Funny story... I was writing this chapter, and... it started pushing ten-thousand words, which... I decided I just couldn't bring myself to force upon _anybody_, no matter how much I like 'em. So I chopped it in half. You think this is long? You lucky ducks get a _short_ read today!**

**And once again... Some of you may know where this story is going. You know who you are. To you I ask that you _please_ say nothing _spoilerish_ in any comments you may wish to leave! Thank you kindly. ^_^**

**Thanks for reading, everyone! ^_^**

* * *

**Rated T for Teen, for reasons of**

**Violence ( XO ) ...**  
**Scariness ( O_O;; ) ...**  
**Booze ( °_o ) ... and**  
**Mortality ( x_x )**

**Reader discretion is advised.**

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- X - X - X - X - X -

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**Chapter 2 – Berk**

Astrid Hofferson took no notice when the rest of the meat from the cellar was loaded into the large saddlebags straddling the three pack-Nadders. She didn't hear Spitelout hounding everyone to make sure their loads were strapped down good and tight. And she didn't see the old hunter enter the lodge one last time, sweeping it for anything left behind and extinguishing the fire before grabbing his cloak and fastening the door, shutting everything within up in frozen, slightly cobwebby darkness until the next hunting party arrived.

Astrid sat alone in a field a hundred yards to the south, ten feet up on the broad blue back of her Nadder, absently fingering the blade of her axe as it hung in the saddle's holster.

As soon as Hiccup had taken his sweet, squeaky time to lug Astrid's supply basket out, she had directed her dragon down onto its haunches and hefted the load up over the saddle to tie it down. Feeling the basket's weight in her arms again, she had regretted a _tiny_ bit having thrown it at Hiccup earlier. But not enough to apologize.

She had then mounted up without a word, and urged her dragon into the woods, Quill's powerful legs plowing an easy path through the snow, toward the icy field from which the dragons would make their ascent into the sky.

And there she waited, wanting nothing more than to leave as quickly as possible. For the sooner they left, the sooner they would arrive home, and the sooner she could sequester herself in the woods beside her favorite target-practice tree. Just her, the bow and a good, deep quiver. And maybe she would borrow Speck, too. He seemed to enjoy playing fetch with spent arrows; perhaps he would come in handy.

As Quill took the liberty of flaming himself a warmer patch of ground to stand on, Astrid spent a few determined moments imagining herself training and training, day after day from dawn to dusk, stopping for nothing but meals, sleep and the call of nature. For a while the thought was encouraging. But the seed of despair sown in her mind and nurtured throughout the whole miserable hunting trip stirred once again in her thoughts: would all the extra practice in the world really make any difference?

She shook her head. Of course it would. She could be a great archer. She just needed to see her efforts through. No matter how long it took.

It was tricky keeping this idea centermost in her mind while much of her better judgment buffeted her from all sides with the notion that she was, perhaps, only fooling herself. After all, everyone _else_ had been steadily improving—even Fishlegs—and that while putting up seemingly _half_ the effort Astrid had been mustering. All within only _three weeks_.

_It wasn't fair_.

Finally taking her restless hand from the axe-blade to rub her furrowed brow, she was only further dismayed to discover the ugly scuff she had inadvertently carved into the buckskin of her mitten.

She groaned sharply through her teeth and turned. _Surely_ the others had to be on their way by _now_..._?_

As a matter of fact they were. She spotted Hiccup and Fishlegs picking their way through the trees on the backs of their dragons. As Fishlegs entered the field, Astrid noticed he seemed to steer his Gronckle deliberately out of the way just to trample across a lovely little bed of snowdrops. _How sad_, she thought, as Miniboss' enormous paws ground the flowers into a fine mushy pulp in the snow.

Hiccup had removed his snowshoe, which was now fastened under its dedicated strap on the left side of Toothless' saddle, to allow his bare prosthesis to lock into the stirrup. He probably wouldn't be dismounting again until they got home. It was a sure sign they were finally getting serious about leaving.

Tuffnut and Ruffnut soon followed on their Zippleback, breaking a path for the heavily-laden pack-Nadders. Herding from behind came the Jorgensons, Spitelout atop a thickset, rust-yellow Nadder of his own, and Snotlout holding tightly to Fireworm as she tilted and twined her massive body between the pines. Slowly, the dragons and riders assembled in a large huddle on the field, their sun-pinked breath rising in great billows and steaming away on the light breeze like the flames of a battlefield. Speck pawed Spitelout's shoulder in anticipation as the latter began to speak.

"Well done everyone!" he began, sounding more chipper than Astrid thought necessary, "Excellent work. Now, Gnarl, Ack and Killkeg the Drool will be heading another hunt back here in a few weeks' time. You've all proven yourselves able and I know they'd be happy to have a few extra hands. Who wants to go?"

There was an immediate, unanimous grumble of dissent.

"Are you kidding?" Tuffnut groaned, "I've wanted to go home ever since I got here. No way I'm coming back."

"Ah, just wait a few years 'til Hoark takes you _whaling_," said Spitelout, "You'll be _pining_ for Forget Me."

"Oh hey _whaling_," Ruffnut mused, "Something _else_ for me to kick your butt at!" she grinned evilly to her brother.

"Don't look so eager, Ruffnut—he doesn't take girls," said Spitelout.

"_What?_" Ruffnut scoffed.

Tuffnut snickered maliciously before feeling his sister's boot connect with his shin. Only his saddle-belt kept him from slipping off of Flint's neck as he grabbed his smarting leg.

"All right, listen up," said Spitelout, "We'll head out same as how we came up. I'll take point. Astrid, Fishlegs, behind me, and the pack-Nadders behind you. Hiccup on starboard and Thorstons on port. Keep the Nadders in tight. Snotlout, at the rear. Make sure we don't lose anyone. Oh, and here," he added, starting his Nadder around the circle and tossing his son a small bundle, "For when you get hungry."

He continued around to each of his trainees, plucking the rations from one of his saddlebags and handing them out. He had to get creative to get anything edible past Flint and safely into Tuffnut's hands.

Astrid inspected the bundle he gave her. It was a bit of hareskin bound in leather wrappings. Inside were several strips of venison jerky.

"Thanks," she said, tucking the snack into the pouch on her belt.

"Thank Ruffnut," said Spitelout, "This is from one of her kills. Fishlegs trapped the hares. Good work, you two."

Ruffnut and Fishlegs merely pocketed their food, looking as if they hadn't heard.

Spitelout pointed his Nadder toward the southern end of the field. "Let's line up."

Astrid took the left side behind Spitelout. She liked Hiccup, but she didn't need any more of his _cheering up_ during the flight home. She would distance herself for now. She needed to stay focused. Fishlegs seemed intent on the right side anyway.

The pack-Nadders chirruped restlessly behind her. In front of her, she saw Speck scurry beneath his master's cloak as Spitelout urged his mount into a run with an encouraging "_Get up, there, Gravycake!_" Fresh powder flew from under the dragon's claws for a few paces before the beast lifted heavily into the air.

Astrid and Fishlegs followed closely behind, drawing with them the three pack-Nadders as they followed the compelling instinct to flock together.

The wind shot bitingly cold through Astrid's hair and around her ears, whistling in time to the beating of Quill's powerful wings. The pines and snowy hills dropped lower and lower, giving way to the brilliant dawn over a shimmering horizon of island and distant sea. Visually striking as it was, however, the rising sun's thin light shed all the warmth of a recently extinguished candle.

As his Nadder began to level out, Spitelout looked back to check on his charges. Astrid turned too. Six dragons sailed in steady formation behind her and Fishlegs, the treetops whipping past beneath their talons. She saw Snotlout give a debonair wave from way at the back.

Riding her dragon always put Astrid in high spirits. She waved back.

And Hiccup returned her wave, beaming his silly grin. Behind him, Snotlout doubled over in laughter nobody could hear over the rush of the wind.

Astrid promptly lost the stomach to look at either of them, and turned back around.

The airborne caravan continued south as the frosty woods below became gradually thinner, the landscape passing into bald crags, icy tumbles of rock, twiggy, frozen marshes and finally, the iron-grey of the lapping sea.

Everyone was only too happy to forget Forget Me.

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* * *

Many had considered venturing to the distant hunting grounds on dragonback to be a gamble. In the past, the journey had always been made by boat, lasting two full days. It was an arduous endeavor, even in mild winters when the sea-ice around the islands was sparse and easily broken through. Furthermore, rough weather could spell serious trouble for a longship in the middle of the sea.

But notwithstanding the occupational hazards, a longship in the middle of the sea was still a great place to take a nap after a long turn at the rudder. Given one was not prone to seasickness.

A dragon, on the other hand, could travel much faster than any longship. But there was no rest to be had on the back of a flying animal, and so Spitelout and his trainees had buckled down for a very long and monotonous ride when first they left Berk.

Even soaring at terrific speeds, they had still been unsure as to how long it would take to cover the distance to the other island. This uncertainty, however, did very little to blunt the raw fortitude of the (mostly) stout-hearted Vikings. Having set out at first light and doggedly pursued their course across the sky, sure enough, they had only just managed to touch down near the old hunting lodge on Forget Me at the setting of the sun on the same day, their faithful dragons panting and steaming, but otherwise in good health and fair humor.

Now the hunters' journey back home was looking to unfold in much the same fashion. Spitelout led them once again over the endless grey sea, reckoning his way by the few dank little islands below and dotting the horizons here and there. The sun crawled slowly up the sky on their left side, growing ever so slightly warmer by the hour. But fingers and toes still grew numb in strong headwinds. Arms and legs still grew weary of holding and balancing. Eyes grew tired of watching the undeviating pack-Nadders, and three-week-old saddle-sores returned with a vengeance.

Just as on the northward trip, a rather _essential_ stop was made around midday on The Perfect Island, a negligible little smear of rock jutting up amid the waves of an otherwise empty expanse of water. It had previously been named by a very desperate Fishlegs for the remarkable placement of its two very secluded coves at exactly opposite ends from each other. The girls took the north cove, the boys took the south, and the dragons took the opportunity to cut a few bites to eat from a small pod of seals hanging around a pebbly beach on the east.

When the improvised privies had served their purpose, Spitelout had everyone quickly mounted up again and back in the air for the final leg of their journey.

The afternoon passed just as slowly as the morning had, the sun drifting lazily down into the west at the same snail's pace. When it was nearer the horizon than it was to its zenith, Astrid finished her second-to-last piece of jerky and stuffed the hareskin bundle into her pouch again. Her mouth had watered when she saw Fishlegs polish off his entire portion shortly after leaving The Perfect Island. But she wanted to make her own supply last. She didn't want to finish it until the following meal was safely in sight.

Unfortunately there was very little to keep her mind otherwise occupied. It was all she could do to take another sip from her half-empty waterskin to cleanse the delicious smoked-venison taste from her tongue, and hope to forget about it.

This would have been easier to accomplish if they had traveled by boat. She and the others would have been able to talk more easily, play games, sing songs or indulge in any number of other distractions.

But a boat would not have carried all their dragons, let alone two days' worth of the dragons' _food_.

And that had been the whole point of the expedition, after all—taking the dragons with them for a hunt. And, all in all, it _had_ been a wildly successful endeavor.

But this fact did nothing to keep Astrid's mind off that last strip of jerky... she had saved the biggest piece for last...

She could only glean so much diversion from the sparse goings-on around her. Miniboss threatened to fall asleep at one point—not unheard of for Gronckles on the wing—until Hiccup brought Toothless up from behind to give the drowsy dragon an obliging nip on the tail. Later in a calm and somewhat quieter wind, Tuffnut tried and failed to start several annoying games of I-Spy. These didn't really catch on until his ninth attempt, when he spied something huge, ripply and wet.

Before Ruffnut could offer her ninth impertinent response, Spitelout called the obvious answer back over his shoulder: "The sea."

"Ooh, got it in one!" said Tuffnut.

"My turn," said Spitelout, "I spy somewhere I get to sleep tonight."

Astrid's eyes snapped up from the seventeen warts she had counted on the back of Quill's neck. There, between the long spikes of her Nadder's frill, far away on the horizon, she spotted an island with a pointed peak sitting amid a congregation of smaller islets.

"Berk!" shouted Hiccup.

Fishlegs sighed with relief. Ruffnut gave a cheer. Snotlout urged his Nightmare forward, pressing the pack-Nadders to go faster, "Come on, come on, let's go!"

"Ah good. Your turn, Hiccup!" called Spitelout.

"What?"

"Spy something, stupid!" Tuffnut shouted across the chirruping Nadders.

"Oh..." Hiccup started, "I, uh, wasn't really thinking about it, that's—"

"Right, yeah, way to kill the game, Hiccup," Tuffnut groaned.

"Fine! Fine, I spy something... blue and yellow... and white... with a lot of—"

"Snotlout's underpants!" yelled Tuffnut.

"_What?_" said Snotlout.

"—I was _going_ to say with a lot of _spikes_ on it!" Hiccup amended.

"Snotlout wears _spiky underpants?_" Ruffnut hollered. The twins cackled as Snotlout ground his teeth behind them.

"IT'S MY DRAGON!" shouted Astrid in exasperation, grinning in spite of herself.

"Yes! Yes that's it," said Hiccup, relieved, "Ah, your turn?"

Astrid smiled. She hated this game.

But it was _something_.

The game continued for a good while, eventually becoming more elaborate as they drew nearer to the island and could discern more of its features. But as they came alongside the coast that would lead to their village, the tired Vikings fell once again into a subdued silence. The sun hung low in the sky as they prepared to make their final descent.

Astrid patted Quill's trembling flank and stroked his steaming neck. They were nearly home. She would be sure to find him an _extra_-large chicken before putting him to roost tonight. Quill loved chicken.

The endless pine-topped cliffs blurred together, their snowy caps glinting in the late afternoon sun, until finally, the first houses of the northern outskirt of Berk began to come into view.

One of them lay in a smoldering heap of ember and ash, dark against the surrounding snow.

This wasn't surprising to anyone. Though no dragon had directly attacked the village since the defeat of the Death, they were still large and unwieldy animals to keep as house pets. They still played rough, and they still breathed fire. Sometimes mishaps happened.

But if there was one thing the people of Berk had become quite expert at, it was rebuilding houses.

"House-raising at the Egilssons'!" Spitelout shouted over his shoulder. The familiar call to action was met by an exhausted grumbling. Surely there were _plenty_ of other people that could help with the Egilssons' house; the young travelers just wanted to rest.

Astrid's eyes followed the wreckage as they sailed over it. No one stood nearby. They were probably waiting for it to burn completely out before clearing away the rubble. She craned her neck as it passed behind them, hoping no one had been injured.

"Sir!" cried Fishlegs.

"Astrid!" Snotlout yelled at the same time.

Astrid looked behind. Snotlout was pointing at something.

"House-raising at... Björn's," said Spitelout.

"No! Sir!" Fishlegs cried again.

Astrid turned to her right. Fishlegs' face was completely color-drained, his eyes wild as he pointed a trembling finger farther south.

"House-raising at—oh Thor on high..." Spitelout gasped.

The last cliff rolled away, revealing the village proper. The peaceful white blanket of snow was pockmarked and broken all over by ugly grey smears—homes that had been reduced to splintered piles and sundry debris, littered and skirted by ash and frozen mud. Three of the old catapults lay toppled in ruin. Black scorch-marks seared the mountainside.

"Where is everyone...?" Astrid breathed, "_Where is everyone?_"

No living thing, human, dragon or otherwise, could be seen. The still and silent scene merely continued to crawl further into view as they soared above it, revealing ruin after blasted ruin at an agonizingly slow pace. Their course forgotten, their purpose momentarily lost, the Vikings could only hold on, and watch.

"We need to get down there," said Hiccup. He and Toothless dropped a few feet.

"_Wait_," Spitelout cautioned, "There's no room—we'll get to the landing range. We need to stay together."

Tuffnut exhaled in a strangled huff, and set the Zippleback into a dive.

"Tuffnut! Ruffnut!" Spitelout called.

"He said to stay together you _idiot!_" Ruffnut shouted. She pulled up on Belch's pommel, trying to steer back to the group.

Tuffnut said nothing and pressed down harder on Flint.

The conflicted Zippleback lessened its angle of descent, but still careened crazily ahead.

"Tuffnut!" Spitelout roared, "_Tuffnut!_ _Blast it_—everyone stay close!" He angled his Nadder sharply downward in pursuit, the others following unsteadily in his wake.

The dragons were tired, and the Zippleback was no exception. It foundered in the air, both heads panting and foaming. Ruffnut managed to keep it airborne _almost_ long enough to make the open field near the middle of the village. Voices chittering, jaws snapping, it finally brought in its wings over a narrow bit of slushy ground between two ruined houses, its rivaling intentions felling it to the earth where it stood shaking and confused.

Tuffnut unhooked his saddle-belt and dropped to the ground, hardly stopping before bounding into the open and across the field, toward the coast.

"Tuff, wait!" Ruffnut called from high atop Belch's rearing neck. She called to Flint, trying to calm the two heads into enough accordance to get themselves out of the cramped alleyway.

With a tremendous flapping and many relieved grumbles, the other dragons touched down in sloppy formation on the landing range, trotting out their momentum for a few paces before finally dropping their wings to hang exhausted at their sides. Their hot breath steamed into the air, reddened by the low sun.

Spitelout slid from Gravycake's back, landing in the thin snow with a crunch. The lump that was Speck beneath his cloak stirred at the jostling movement. "Snotlout! With me," he beckoned.

Snotlout ran from where he had dismounted.

"The rest of you stay here," the old hunter instructed, "We'll be back as soon as we can."

"I know where he's going!" said Ruffnut as she steered the Zippleback onto the field. She slid down Belch's neck and hit the ground running, her plaits bouncing wildly.

"You'll _stay here_ until I get back," Spitelout replied in a low voice, motioning his son into a run beside him.

"No! You have to take me with you!" Ruffnut shouted, grabbing his arm as she ran alongside.

Spitelout crunched to an immediate halt and took her severely by the shoulder, planting her in place. "You _will_ stay in this spot—" he growled, his voice steadily rising, "—_all_ of you—and watch _yourselves_ and the _dragons_ until I come back or I promise you will _all_ walk with _LIMPS for the rest of your lives_," he snarled. "—On _both legs_," he added, pointing at Hiccup.

No one disbelieved him.

He ran after Tuffnut, his son trailing pale-faced at his elbow, leaving Ruffnut standing alone.

Astrid knew where Tuffnut was headed, too. But as she sat rigid in the saddle, her eyes shot back to the north and the east, far away where the village hugged the mountainside, toward her _own_ home. She could not see it—too many other structures obscured her view—but she could see the black scorch-marks raking the cliffs all around and behind where she knew it was supposed to be. Her mouth went dry and her heart seemed to jump up and start thundering somewhere between her ears.

She turned back to her fellow hunters. Hiccup stared open-mouthed at the jumbled avenue where the Jorgensons had disappeared, his shallow breath puffing out in frantic little wisps. Fishlegs was shivering violently and looked near to weeping. Ruffnut still stood where Spitelout had left her. Even beneath several layers of winter furs, Astrid could see her shoulders clenched tighter than a bowstring.

The dragons had become very silent, their eyes wide, their nostrils heaving, their great heads twitching, almost bird-like, trying to sense whatever it was that had disrupted all that should have occurred upon their return to this their roost at Berk.

Astrid looked again at the black-streaked cliff. Every sinew of her being screamed to just turn her mount, and _run_. _Go home, go home_...

_Go home_...

* * *

- X - X - X - X - X -

* * *

The Jorgensons' footfalls hammered through the otherwise silent village. Spitelout knew the way to the Thorston household, but his hunter's eyes had fallen automatically to the earth, sweeping for indentations, prints, breaks, signs. He easily traced Tuffnut's pelting tracks past house after house, slowing where they slowed, stopping where they stopped as Tuffnut had taken in the desolation around him. They were less than a minute behind him.

Snotlout's eyes read a completely different story. Deserted buildings glowered eerily down at him from all sides as he trailed at the hem of his father's billowing cloak. Black doorways gaped from beneath cold and tattered rooftops. He tried to breathe as quietly as possible as they darted between vacant houses and over splintered planks.

The emptiness was utterly unnerving.

Ever cautious, Spitelout paused at every corner, froze at every turn, all senses flared wide for any sign of danger. In a few moments the two of them came to the teetering remains of Pepperbeard's bakery, and peered around the edge of one blackened wall.

The Thorstons' home was still standing. The door was open.

The coast was clear.

"Come on," Spitelout murmured.

They ran.

Pausing before the threshold, Spitelout took a sidelong look inside, and then entered, Snotlout close behind him.

Tuffnut stood in the middle of the room, facing away from the door, his hands on the back of a chair.

"_Tuffnut!_" Spitelout whispered, striding up and grabbing Tuffnut's shoulder. He spun the young man around to face him. Tuffnut's eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. He said nothing.

"What are you thinking, boy, you can't bolt off like a sheep! You're liable to—_didn't Gobber ever tell you how he lost his hand?_" Spitelout hissed.

Tuffnut's brow only twitched in and out of a deeper furrow.

"He knows, Dad," said Snotlout.

Spitelout glanced about the room. There were no signs of any conflict or struggle. Table and chairs stood as though only recently and calmly vacated. The fire pit was cold; motes of ash swirled in the minute air-currents wafting through the door. Everything was still. Unnatural silence gaped all around them, threatening to swallow them up...

Speck chose this moment to poke his head out from under Spitelout's cloak and shriek like a banshee for something to eat, setting off three screaming heart attacks at once.

Spitelout's broad hand whipped up and clamped the Terrible Terror's head against his shoulder, stifling the cry. "We need to get back," he breathed.

Tuffnut made no movement.

The old hunter pulled the wriggling dragon out of his cloak and handed him to Snotlout. "Here, keep him quiet," he said. "Let's go," he added to Tuffnut, putting an arm around the boy's lanky shoulders and urging him forward.

* * *

- X - X - X - X - X -

* * *

"Have you all gone _deaf?_" Ruffnut seethed, "That was _them!_ We need to _find_ them!" She threw her arms in the direction of her house.

"We don't know that," said Hiccup shakily. He had reattached his snowshoe, and now stood beside Toothless' head, attempting to calm the dragon with a good scratch under the chin. It wasn't working. "It could've been... a seagull, or—"

"Did you see a _single_ seagull when we came in? _Any?_"

"Well I wasn't really looking for seagulls in particular, but—"

"It was _them_ and they were _screaming_, you _beefwit_," Ruffnut went on, "Astrid, you heard it didn't you?"

Astrid hardly looked away from the cliff. "I don't know," she said, which was true. All her attentions had been directed to the home she could not see, no matter how tall she sat in the saddle.

Ruffnut reluctantly turned to the only other person there. "Fishlegs...?"

Fishlegs had dismounted and sunk to the ground; he now sat leaning against his Gronckle, one hand over his face. "He said to stay here..."

Ruffnut fumed, growling hoarsely. "We can't just _sit_ here while they're—what if they need our help?" She turned again to Hiccup, the only one returning any eye-contact, her own wide eyes beseeching him for _some_ kind of _action_...

But all at once it didn't matter. The soft crunching of boots made everyone look up. Ruffnut spun around to see the Jorgensons and her brother come tromping through the ashy snow.

She strode toward them, her pace quickening with every step, not stopping until her mittened palm had mashed into Tuffnut's face and thrown him to the ground. "_What is your problem?_" she shrieked.

But for once, Tuffnut made no effort to retaliate.

"_Keep your voice down!_" Spitelout whispered, grabbing Ruffnut again by the shoulder.

"_Why didn't you take me with you?_" she hissed back. "_What did you see?_," she added to Tuffnut as he sat up in the snow.

"There was nothing there," Snotlout murmured.

Ruffnut choked and brought a hand to her mouth.

"No, no, your house is fine," said Spitelout, "there was nothing wrong—"

Ruffnut turned to her brother again. "Were Mom and Dad there?" she pleaded.

Tuffnut only shook his head, his eyes fixated on the snow between his feet.

"_Sir_," said Astrid, thinking hard, trying to get into her mentor's head, "maybe we should get closer to the cliff... It's more—_sheltered_ there." She motioned _almost_ directly toward her home...

"My dad's the Chief," said Hiccup, "Shouldn't we try and find him?"

"_Dad, what about Mom?_" Snotlout whispered, Speck still squirming in his arms.

Spitelout drew a hand across his brow and down his face. Astrid saw his eyes flick to the north as he took a deep breath. His own home was out there too.

"Everybody back up," he finally said, stepping toward his dragon, "Astrid's right—we'll need a protected foothold here first. We'll go to the Great Hall."

Astrid's heart sank. Indeed, the Great Hall, built into the very mountainside, was the most sheltered place they could hope to be, but _that wasn't what she meant_...

A fiercely whispered clamor arose from the others.

"_Dad_..." Snotlout whispered urgently.

"Sir, what about my house?" Fishlegs whimpered.

"I want to see _my_ house!" Ruffnut hissed.

"There was nothing to see," said Spitelout, "Now mount up—we'll let the dragons walk. Everyone, let's go."

Tuffnut stood up with a glaze in his eyes and walked impassively toward his Zippleback. Hiccup once again detached his snowshoe and climbed onto Toothless' back. _Easy enough for those two_, thought Astrid as she pointed Quill toward the cliff, waiting for Spitelout's orders. Hiccup's house was a _stone's cast_ from the Great Hall; of _course_ they would stop there on the way. And _Tuffnut_ had already _seen_ his home; _he_ would have no qualms about going to the Hall—

But as Astrid watched Tuffnut beckon blankly to his dragon, his eyes glassy, his movements half-dead... she wondered how envious she really ought to be.

Ruffnut, however, gave no time to wondering about it. "What—well you were just _there!_" she whispered to Spitelout, "You said nothing was wrong. It's not that far—why can't I just _look?_"

Spitelout turned to speak directly into Ruffnut's face, "Look around you _now_," he hissed, "Have a care, will you? Whatever did this could still be nearby."

"_There is nothing out there_," Ruffnut snapped back, "I don't see _anything_—"

"Have I taught you _nothing?_" Spitelout rasped, "Just because you can't _see_ something doesn't mean it isn't _there!_"

"Sir..." Astrid piped up, "_did_ you see anything out there?"

"No recent tracks," said Spitelout, "though there's been too much snowfall to be certain."

Astrid's heart raced. Too much snowfall to be certain? But Spitelout the Master Tracker was _always_ certain... wasn't he? And if the village really was empty, perhaps she could get him to change his mind... _But how to suggest it without contradicting herself_..._?_

Before Astrid could formulate what to say next, Spitelout's eyes fell on the waiting Gronckle and the shivering figure next to it. "Come on, Fishlegs, on your feet," he said, walking over.

"To the Hall?" Fishlegs whispered, taking his hand from his face.

Spitelout nodded and held out a hand.

Fishlegs shivered. "But, sir, what about my mom and dad? Can't we—can't we—"

"Yeah what about _Fishlegs_' house?" said Ruffnut, "We haven't seen _that_ yet—we should check on it."

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with _your_ house being on the way there," said Spitelout.

"Absolutely nothing," Ruffnut asserted, her intentions as transparent as the air.

_To blazes with it_, thought Astrid. She had already talked herself into a corner. "Sir, I only wanted to get closer to the cliff because _my_ house is over there."

Spitelout looked at her, sighing tensely, "Astrid, I have six charges to see to here, and by anything holy you can think of, we'll shelter if I _say_ we shelter. We can't help anything if we can't help ourselves first."

"Uh, hello, we have _dragons_ with us," Ruffnut butted in, "What bigger help could we get?"

Astrid continued, "But if you didn't see any _recent_ tracks... we could search the village..." Her thoughts began to quail under Spitelout's steely gaze. But she had to be diplomatic. If she wanted to see her home as quickly as possible, it would have to be on a level playing field for _everyone_. "Right now we're closer to the Ingermans' than we are to the Great Hall anyway." Fishlegs perked up at this. "If we move fast we can make it there in—"

"Dragons did this," said Spitelout, pointing out the burned houses and scorch-marks, "And dragons can sniff you out no matter _how_ fast you move. Speaking of which, we need to get going. We'll be safer in the Hall."

"But if any dragons _were_ going to come after us, don't you think they would have _done_ it by now?" _That was too brash_, thought Astrid. She held her breath as Spitelout looked back down to Fishlegs and around to Ruffnut. Their expressions were the same: tense, waiting, _pleading_.

"It _would_ be easier if we search right now while the sun's still up," suggested Snotlout, "We won't get another chance like this until morning." He held his father's eyes for a moment.

Astrid gave Snotlout a deeply grateful look. She hoped he could see it in his periphery, as he did not break eye-contact with his father. But after a second she wondered if he even noticed it at all, with how intent his gaze was. Something unspoken seemed to move behind his pupils.

Spitelout returned the look just as forcefully. "All right," he finally said, "We'll search—_together_."

The Vikings exhaled as Spitelout offered his hand once more to Fishlegs, who took it this time.

"But we'll be _quiet_ about it," Spitelout continued, pulling Fishlegs sniffling to his feet, "Nothing above a whisper, and I want to move _fast_. Ingermans' first, and... Thorstons' on the way," he added with a flat-browed glance at Ruffnut, "After that we'll turn to the mountain and follow it to the Haddocks', and the Hall. I want you four—" he pointed to Hiccup, Fishlegs and the twins, "—to _stay there_. Snotlout, Astrid and I will go on to the Hoffersons', and our house—if you're willing, Astrid?"

Her answer was immediate. "Of course," she said. She was going to see her house. She would follow him anywhere.

"We may need to go single file," said Spitelout, seeming to enter a brief debate with himself as he scanned his surroundings, "Ruffnut, Hiccup, can you take the rear?"

"Yeah," said Ruffnut, and Hiccup nodded along.

"Over here," Spitelout motioned them toward him. "The rest of you line up," he called to the others, pointing out an order on the field, "Snotlout, Fishlegs, Tuffnut, Astrid. If you brought anything sharp and pointy with you I want to see it at the ready in your hands. No, leave the pack-Nadders back here. Now, you two," he turned back to Ruffnut and Hiccup, his voice softening.

Astrid could barely hear what was said as three other dragons and their riders filed past her.

"Ruffnut, get your bow and quiver and bring them back here," said Spitelout, "I want you to ride with Hiccup. Go."

Ruffnut ran to where her brother had steered the Zippleback and started digging into her basket.

"Hiccup," Spitelout went on, nearly eye-level with the boy as he sat on his Night Fury, "Walk your dragon _in front_ of the pack-Nadders." His voice grew even quieter. "Lead them behind you. If anything's trailing us I don't want it to go for you first."

Hiccup stole a furtive glance at the Nadders, as though afraid they might overhear.

"Did you bring a weapon with you?" asked Spitelout.

"Just my old axe," said Hiccup uncertainly, "But—I'm not really—"

"It's all right," said Spitelout. It was no secret that Hiccup had never been very good with axes or swords. Even so, Spitelout directed him, "Just get it out, and keep it ready. More importantly, keep your _dragon_ ready. I've never known your Night Fury to miss a target. Stay alert, and make sure he does the same." He laid a hand on Toothless' neck in gesture.

"Spitelout, is something out there?" whispered Hiccup, his eyes wide under his furrowed brow as he dismounted and unclasped the lid of his basket.

"Maybe not," Spitelout grinned unconvincingly, "But we'll be prepared in any case."

Ruffnut returned, bow in hand, with a quiver full of arrows slung over her shoulder just as Hiccup wrested his axe from its tangled nest in the middle of a rolled-up blanket. He fastened his basket again, and both of them climbed up onto Toothless' back.

"Turn around, Ruffnut," said Spitelout.

"What?" Ruffnut looked confused.

"Back-to-back. You keep an eye on the Nadders and on our rear. Keep an arrow loaded at all times."

Ruffnut adjusted her position so she was looking straight down Toothless' tail, her knees against Hiccup's basket. From the quiver now mashed between her shoulder blades and Hiccup's, she drew an arrow and nocked it to the string.

Spitelout meanwhile busied himself with attaching leads to the pack-Nadders' harnesses, tethering them together in a line. He handed the leading end to Hiccup, who tied it fast around one of Toothless' saddle-straps.

From the front of the formation, Speck's soft chittering could still be heard as he tried to wriggle free of Snotlout's grasp.

Spitelout sighed. He took his knife over to one of the pack-Nadders, briefly unfastened one of the saddlebags and sliced off a small hunk of deer-shoulder for his Terrible Terror. Tidbit in hand, he added a final, "Keep your eyes open," to Hiccup and Ruffnut as he passed them again on the way to his Nadder.

Gravycake rumbled as Spitelout directed him into a crouch. When the old hunter had swung himself over the saddle, urged his Nadder back to its feet and walked to the front of the line beside his son, he held out his arm like a perch and motioned for Snotlout to let Speck go, waving the venison for the Terrible Terror to see.

Snotlout was only too happy to oblige, and Speck darted hungrily to Spitelout's forearm, snatching up the meat in a trice. Sated at last by the morsel in his talons, the little dragon easily allowed himself to be shunted back under his master's cloak as he nibbled away on the treat.

That being done, Spitelout hefted his old battle-axe from its holster in the saddle, its leather wrappings creaking beneath the fingers of one hand. The other hand he put up in the air for attention.

His hunters recognized the signal. They had seen it a hundred times on Forget Me. The rest of their communications from their mentor would likely come in similar fashion.

Astrid gritted her teeth and swallowed hard as, with a wave of his arm, Spitelout started the line of riders and dragons out of the landing range and into the shambles of the village of Berk.


	3. Shadows

**_Author's Notes_: Oh my GOOOOSH I had such trouble uploading this to DA today. Broke the character limit by half a kilobyte. x_x Had to scramble around before I found that nice loophole that let it display correctly... hey everybody knock on wood for me! 8D**

**ANYWAYZ...**

**_IT'S OVER NINE THOUSSAAAAAAAAND!_**

**...words long. WOW aren't you glad I split chapter two into two pieces? Dang. And OH my GOSH it's been, what... three months and some since I last updated? Please don't kill me guys.**

***AHEM***

**So here's chapter three. HEY, I've been warning you guys from the start, this fic is gonna be _hairy!_ Terrible things will happen! Seriously you guys, if you're lookin' for skippity-tra-la-la happy-go-funtimes... just stop reading and go away. I'm serious.**

**Also, plot-guessers will be shot. ^_^ If you've got spoilerish questions for me, just send me a private message! I'll be happy to either answer your questions or completely blow you off, depending on the spoileresqueness of the question in question, my mood, and the alignment of the moons of Jupiter.**

**And as always, please lemme know if you spot any spacing, spelling or grammatical goofs. Except for that one Ruffnut line with the improper use of "where's"? That one was intentional. But anything else, lemme know!**

**Thanks everyone! ENJOY!**

* * *

**Rated T for Teen, for reasons of**

**Violence**  
**Scariness**  
**Booze  
****and** **Mortality**

**Reader discretion is advised.**

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- X - X - X - X - X -

* * *

******Chapter 3 – Shadows**

Twisting in her saddle, Astrid looked behind with a pang of urgency. They needed to _hurry_. Every step they took to the south was a step away from her home. She felt as though it were slipping through her fingers, never to be reclaimed. She wanted to be there _now_, before it was lost for good. Her grip unconsciously tightened around the handle of her axe.

Following close behind on Toothless, Hiccup caught her eye, and the two of them shared a wordless look of disquiet. The destruction they were passing through seemed unreal. They had weathered some fierce dragon-raids before, but never on a scale like _this_. The fine line between street and edifice had been obliterated in many places. It had all become one ruinous thoroughfare, paved by soot and splintered beams, and they like a trickle of water wound their way through the lowest parts, breaking their own path, moving silently as ghosts through the rising shadows.

Riding behind Hiccup, loaded bow in hand, Ruffnut admittedly had some trouble keeping her eyes to the rear for any sign of danger. She kept glancing over Hiccup's shoulder, restlessly watching for her house. The dragons were trotting along at a quick pace, but it couldn't be quick _enough_...

When the Thorstons' home finally did come into view, Ruffnut slid from Toothless' back and sprinted for the door. Spitelout brought the procession to a halt and dismounted, signaling for Tuffnut to come along and everyone else to stay where they were.

But Tuffnut only shook his head, and remained where he was on his Zippleback, his face unreadable, his spear locked in his fists. He had already seen inside his home. Apparently he didn't need to see it again.

Spitelout met Ruffnut at the threshold, and the two of them disappeared into the house.

For a few moments, Astrid could hear only the soft treading of their boots over the boards within. Soon afterward she caught the hushed murmur of their low voices, though she could not make out what was said.

Her eyes fell on Tuffnut. He waited still, just the same, watching stonily from Flint's neck. He had been so _boisterous_ this afternoon, so _flippant_. It seemed forever ago now.

The pack-Nadders behind Toothless chirruped and chittered nervously, and Quill echoed their apprehension. Astrid scratched her dragon's neck, going through the familiar motion as much to calm herself as the beast on which she sat.

There were more footfalls and some scraping of furniture, and a short time later Spitelout and Ruffnut emerged, Ruffnut carrying a bundled blanket in her arms. This she hastily wedged between the two baskets on the Zippleback before running back to join Hiccup on his Night Fury. She readied her bow once more, breathing deeply, as though a great weight had come off her chest.

"Is everything all right?" Astrid whispered back to her as Spitelout started the line again.

"All the shields are gone," Ruffnut answered.

"From your wall?" Astrid had seen the display of armaments in her friend's house many times.

Ruffnut turned away, "My dad's halberd, too." Astrid could hear the tightness in her voice.

"What was that stuff you brought out?" asked Hiccup.

"It was just _stuff_—clothes—I don't know," Ruffnut grunted, turning slightly, "Spitelout wanted me to grab some extra things." She shifted forcefully back around to face the pack-Nadders, heaving a huge sigh and throwing one braid over her shoulder.

Hiccup mumbled an apologetic acknowledgement and faced forward again.

Ruffnut had no more trouble keeping a vigilant rear-watch after that.

Fishlegs, however, who was already having difficulty simply holding onto the pommel for how violently he was shivering, nearly fell off his dragon altogether when they arrived at his home; the Ingermans had lost a great deal more than a few shields.

Half of the house had imploded in upon itself, crushed by only Odin knew what.

The surrounding area seemed to have been lost beneath a knee-deep sea of tangled timber. Spitelout stopped the line again and slid from his dragon, landing quieter than Astrid thought possible for one of his girth onto a rickety pile of wood below that threatened a cacophonous clattering at every step.

Fishlegs stumbled from Miniboss' back. Stepping toward his home, he held his arms out like a blind man, groping for some way to take in the sight before him. "Oh..." he moaned, "_Ohh_—"

"_Shh_," Spitelout shushed him shortly and took him by the arm, dragging him closer to the nightmarish scene. There was no time for hesitation. "We haven't seen any dead," he said, his voice softened in a poor attempt at sensitivity, "I doubt we'll find any here. I'm sure they're both alive and well somewhere..."

Fishlegs could only gulp and continue to put one foot in front of the other, stumbling along wobbly beams and planks, panting as he approached his gaping door.

The way was partially blocked from within by a number of fallen rafters.

"Tuffnut, Astrid, Hiccup," Spitelout whispered, pointing. He signaled them down, and they came to help remove the obstacle. The work was done quickly, in _almost_ complete silence—Hiccup's prosthesis slipped at one point, plunging his whole left leg into a dark crevice in the rattling woodpile.

"Okay those are splinters," he winced, pulling himself to his feet again.

"_Shh_," Spitelout cautioned again, and he and Fishlegs carefully entered the house.

The rest of the hunters were dismissed to return to their dragons. Dismally they climbed back into their saddles to wait once more. They were supposed to be keeping an eye out for trouble, but they found it difficult to keep their eyes from gravitating again and again back to the house.

Just as at the Thorston home, after a few long moments, Spitelout and Fishlegs reappeared, hauling out what little could be salvaged: a few clinking tools muffled by some lengths of rope and a pillow, all carried in a large, slightly blackened pail.

Fishlegs' parents had _not_ in fact been inside, which came as both a great relief and a great anxiety. For while what Spitelout had said was true, that they had encountered no bodies in the village since their arrival, the deadened emptiness around them still offered no clues as to where their tribe _could_ be—if they were still alive.

As implied by his name, Miniboss was a smaller dragon, even for a Gronckle, and so had no more room behind his saddle to carry the extra load that had been scavenged from the Ingermans' home. The things were tied down instead beside Snotlout's basket on Fireworm's very ample back, before the Vikings pressed on toward the cliff.

Astrid glanced back to the west as the dragons trotted on. The sunset burned a charming orange and pink in the sky, thinly masquerading as the end of a happy day. As the farthest horizon of sea was out of sight, she could not gauge exactly how low the sun had sunk since they had landed, though she felt as if enough time had passed for the sky to darken many times over.

Time seemed to have been frozen in this one horrible moment that would never end...

This thought was interrupted by a throaty, growling snort from Fireworm. At the front of the line, the Jorgensons were rounding a bend behind a building to the left, turning north along the cliff face. As the line advanced, there was a moan from Snotlout. And then a gasp from Fishlegs. And then a startled chittering from the Zippleback as Tuffnut steered it around the corner.

Astrid followed close behind and felt Quill stiffen beneath her at the sight of an enormous Monstrous Nightmare lying dead against the rocks.

She inhaled sharply. _So there were casualties after all_, she thought, _of a sort_.

The savagery of the Nightmare's final struggle was etched all across its body. Long gashes and bite-marks from reptilian claws and teeth marred its frozen purple hide. One of its horns had snapped clean in two, and one cruel fang—presumably wrenched from its attacker's jaws—still lay embedded in its shoulder.

Not so much as a raven circled overhead for the carrion.

They passed the scene quickly, and Astrid heard the resounding murmur of unease reverberate behind her, through Hiccup, Ruffnut and the Nadders as they came around the corner.

The debris was not so thick near the cliff, and the dragons trotted ahead with greater ease. It was only a few moments before they came to the huge, looming staircase, cut out of the living rock, which led up to the Great Hall on their right. Spitelout hugged the mountainside and twined toward the foot of the stairs before putting up his fist and signaling the line to stop.

He dismounted and crept among the rocks until he was able to peer over the edge of the lowest steps for a clear view to the north.

A second later, he moved to where Hiccup could see him, pointed, and beckoned.

Astrid turned in time to see Hiccup snap his snowshoe into place and dash toward the head of the line, his prosthesis squeaking rapidly. For having only one and a half legs, he could certainly _move_ when he wanted to.

Panting glistening clouds into the air, Hiccup edged toward where Spitelout had indicated and looked over and across the bottom of the stairway. His home—the Chief's home—would be just on the other side of it.

He became very still. His breath stopped.

Spitelout signaled the rest of the hunters to stay put, and he and Hiccup disappeared around the staircase. The rhythmic squeaking of Hiccup's leg grew steadily quieter as the others waited in the deepening chill beside the rocks.

They weren't gone very long. Astrid heard the distant creaking of the mainspring as Hiccup walked, paused, walked again, jogged in little bursts of speed... and then the faintly increasing volume that signified he and Spitelout had seen all they needed to.

They brought nothing back.

Hiccup walked back to his Night Fury, pale as a corpse.

"Hiccup?" Astrid whispered as he passed her.

He only looked at her, bewildered, and shook his head. "Can't find my dad," he muttered.

Spitelout's hand went up in the air. He motioned where they would be going—up the stairs—and gave the wave of his hand that started the procession again.

Scanning all horizons for any sign of danger, the old hunter walked Gravycake carefully around to the base of the stairs, and urged his mount up the steps. The same gasps and murmurs rippled down the line as each rider made the turn, and saw what remained of the home of Chief Stoick the Vast.

It lay smeared across the snowy hillside in quite ten thousand pieces, scattered for fifty yards toward the sea. It wasn't the first time it had been demolished by dragons. But it certainly seemed to be the most severe.

As they passed the second landing on the gigantic stairway, gaining greater height, Astrid finally, _miraculously_ caught sight of her own home, far away against the distant cliff.

It too had been blasted half out of existence.

She briefly closed her eyes, breathing deeply. It wasn't the first time her house had been destroyed either. But she hadn't seen it blown to smithereens like this in a very long time. Still, at least now she _knew_, and she felt as if that simple knowledge should at least give her some kind of relief.

It didn't.

Her heart only started hammering the harder as they neared the Great Hall's gigantic double-doors.

They hung ajar.

Cresting the landing that finally gave him a view into the Hall, Spitelout stopped abruptly and threw up his fist. Everyone behind him halted, holding their breath. The old hunter quickly moved his mount a few paces to the side, madly gesticulating a number of silent orders, directing the others to steer their dragons onto a small shelf of rock to the left, and dismount.

Something was in the Hall.

Spitelout steered Gravycake over to join the huddle of dragons, and slipped noiselessly to the ground.

"What did you see?" whispered Snotlout.

"Nothing," Spitelout answered, hefting his axe, "Thought I _heard_ something though..."

"What was it?" asked Ruffnut as she tried to keep the pack-Nadders quiet.

"Not sure." Spitelout considered the massive doors for a moment. "We so much as nudge those and the world's going to know about it," he said.

Astrid saw the problem. The opening was not wide enough to admit the larger dragons. And the doors of the Great Hall were not known for their silence. On a quiet night, their creaking could be heard from as far away as the harbor.

"We'll have a look on foot first," Spitelout continued. But then he paused, and turned to Hiccup, "Except for you. Back on your dragon. He can fit."

"I'm _sorry_ it's so _cold_," Hiccup whispered in annoyance, pointing at his false leg and its shrieking spring. "Maybe if I just had some grease—"

"Nothing personal," Spitelout interrupted, "Besides, we may need your dragon's deadeye _fire_. Untie him from the pack-Nadders and mount up."

Hiccup did so, sighing to himself. _He_ couldn't help the squeaking.

Spitelout padded over to the edge of one great door, and peered into the blackness. Leaning back, he waved the others up behind him. "Weapons up. No sound. Along the wall," he whispered, gesturing to the left side, "Stay close."

And he slipped inside.

One by one his pupils followed him in. With how low the sun had sunk, very little light found its way into the cavernous recesses of the Hall. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimness.

Discerning the sudden loss of light, Speck the Terrible Terror finally crept out from the warmth of Spitelout's cloak and onto his wonted perch on the man's shoulder. Usually a noisy little brute, even he seemed to sense the need for silence here. His head bobbed in time to his master's footsteps, his curious yellow eyes wide and alert.

The Vikings rounded one of the enormous inner pillars beside the door and crept along the dark north wall, feeling their way with their hands, their fingers brushing over intricate, centuries-old carvings depicting ancient battles and long-dead Heroes. Their feet fell softly as feathers over the cold stone floor.

Astrid's heart thundered in her ears. They just needed to secure the Hall now. That was all they needed to do. They could do that much, and then she and the Jorgensons could be on their way, and she could see her house. Nobody else's loved ones had been found slain among the ruins. It would surely be the same case with her family... with her _parents_...

She held her axe stiffly at her right side, one sharp blade of it facing outward against the pitch black. The dim shapes of overturned tables and snapped benches slowly became visible as the hunters moved deeper into the yawning darkness.

A snuffling, scratching noise briefly echoed from somewhere on the far side of the Hall.

Astrid's heart nearly burst from her chest. Behind her, a low growl escaped from Toothless' throat. Astrid spun around. The darkness was deep, but she was certain she could see the pupils of Toothless' globular, grass-green eyes _constrict_ ever so slightly. Hiccup ran one hand down the Night Fury's temple and jaw, shushing and crooning and frantically trying to quiet his dragon.

At the front of the line, Spitelout turned, barely visible among the shadows, but giving an unmistakable death-glare for _silence_.

They kept moving.

At any second, whatever it was would lunge from the shadows, jaws gaping, claws splayed wide... Astrid could feel it in her marrow. She shifted her hold on her axe, turning the flat of it outward instead, holding it like a shield. No sense letting the thing charge into her and stick her with her own double-headed weapon.

Slowly, cautiously, they passed between the wall on their left and pillar after towering pillar on their right. The scraping sound grew louder. A heavy, animal breathing whispered from the black. They were getting close.

Spitelout moved away from the wall and crossed to one of the mighty stone columns. Sensing this deviant trajectory away from the safety of the group, Speck immediately deserted his master, flapping back with a nearly inaudible squeak to perch on Snotlout's helmet instead.

The old hunter peered around the pillar, putting his fist softly into the air a second later. Ruffnut's bowstring gave the faintest of creaks as she drew an arrow tighter against it. Shivering violently, Fishlegs cowered what he could of his bulk behind Snotlout... and promptly received an elbow in the gut.

Spitelout stepped out evenly from behind the pillar, his axe held intently before him.

The scraping stopped. There was a grating _hiss_.

The thing could see him.

It inhaled and snorted, grotesquely lapping for his scent, and padded out from the deep shadows on the other side of the Hall...

It was a Gronckle. Its thick hide was scored with claw marks and one of its crest-fins had torn. Blood dripped from a sore on its muzzle.

But it was _only_ a _Gronckle_.

The Vikings breathed. Spitelout lowered his axe. Snotlout actually laughed—until Speck took off from his helmet again, shoving it down over his eyes as he returned to his master's shoulder.

But Fishlegs gulped and trembled more severely. "They're dangerous when they're wounded," he whispered, "Everyone on your back and stick out your tongue!" He dropped to the floor and rolled right over. "It'th a thign of thubmithivenethh—it won' atthack," he explained.

No one followed his lead.

The Gronckle snarled shortly and scrabbled back into the darkness, leaving behind a few bloody pawprints.

The Vikings advanced, slowly rounding the stone breastwork surrounding the central fire pit, until they could see where the beast had gone. Scarcely visible in the fading light, they saw it hunched down against the far wall beside another Gronckle, which appeared to have been dead for some time. The first Gronckle nosed under its fellow's head, pawed at its side, tugged at its legs, trying to get it to move.

Astrid's pounding heart dropped out of her skull and landed in the pit of her stomach where it hung like a millstone. The display was utterly pitiful.

Spitelout continued around the edge of the fire pit and made his way toward the row of pillars on the other side of the Hall, careful to give the Gronckles a wide berth. Passing the columns and reaching the south wall, he looked up and down the length of the room.

When he seemed satisfied he walked back to the group, his stride slightly more relaxed. "We'll need some light in here," he said.

Hiccup brought Toothless to the fire pit and the Night Fury jumped up onto the hearth.

"Just a little, Toothless," Hiccup murmured, "Can you brand it? Brand it?"

The Night Fury recognized the command, and let loose a soft, steady stream of blue flame down into the center of the pit, igniting the remains of the nearly spent pile of logs within.

"There's not much wood left," said Hiccup.

Spitelout started a more thorough circuit of the Hall. "Fishlegs, get up and get that broken bench into the fire pit," he said, pointing.

Shivering, his tongue still hanging from his mouth, Fishlegs got up from the freezing floor and gingerly tiptoed toward the bench Spitelout had indicated. He never took his eyes from the Gronckle.

He hefted one half of the snapped bench up under his arm, and carried it softly back toward the others.

Astrid wanted to be done here. They had to move fast. "Ruff," she beckoned to her friend, and the two of them took the bench from Fishlegs, climbed up onto the hearth and laid it gently on the fire.

It couldn't be gentle enough. One of the blackened logs beneath crumbled under the weight in a flurry of embers, and the end of the bench scraped down the side of the pit with distressing volume, bouncing off the bottom with a clatter.

The Gronkle jumped and snarled. The Vikings started and huddled closer together. Fishlegs, on his way to get the other half of the bench, fell to his back again, his tongue lolling frantically. But after a moment the Gronckle snorted and returned to tugging at its companion's leg.

"_Shh!_" Spitelout hissed from the darkest corner as he continued combing the gigantic room, "_Carefully_."

"_Sorry_..." Astrid whispered. She hopped down into the ashes and shifted the bench among the brands in the fire pit, getting the flames to catch.

Hauling herself out again and seeing poor Fishlegs still quivering on the ground like a beached walrus with palsy, she was about to go and help him with the second piece when—

"I'll get the next one, babe, don't worry about it," Snotlout crooned, and he strode toward where Fishlegs lay by the other half of the bench.

Astrid's lip curled very slightly. She was _not_ in the mood for this kind of levity.

"Hey Fishlegs, hurry up with that wood!" she heard Snotlout whisper as he approached the prostrate Viking.

Snotlout took Fishlegs by the nape of his furry overcoat and hauled him to his feet with some difficulty. "Come on, help me get this," he urged.

Fishlegs was still shaking horribly, his eyes plastered on the Gronckle, but he bent down and stiffly picked up one end of the remaining piece of bench. Snotlout grabbed the other end, and they both started back to the fire pit, Snotlout in the lead, when a black shadow detached itself from the ceiling, swooped down without a sound, and ploughed straight into Fishlegs' back.

Fishlegs hit the floor with a yelp and skidded for two yards, jarring Snotlout's hold on the bench and sending him too into a sprawling faceplant. Dark talons, sharp as knives, closed on the air where Snotlout's head had been only a heartbeat previously, before the creature they belonged to wheeled back up into the shadows without so much as a whisper.

Toothless snarled viciously, and the downed Vikings hollered in surprise and anger. Ruffnut screamed, half in terror, half in mad aggression, and let fly an arrow after the dark form. It missed its target and clattered invisibly against a high stone before scraping down the wall to the floor.

Astrid's eyes went wide as saucers as she cast them furiously in all directions, her heart thundering in her brain. Hiccup was shouting at Toothless, and Snotlout was yelling crossly at Fishegs. _Spitelout_ was roaring at _everybody_, his axe held high as he came running back to the group.

With a terrified shriek, Speck once again detached himself from Spitelout's shoulder and flapped away into the darkest corner he could find, while the Gronckle snorted and stamped in dangerous agitation.

"Toothless! Just fire! _FIRE!_" Hiccup yelled.

Toothless threw back his great head and let out a blinding bolt of blue-white flame that glared like lightning in the blackness, illuminating the entire room for one precious instant before it knocked off a piece of the ceiling with a resounding rumble.

The single strobe of light revealed a large bat-like creature hovering near one pillar, seemingly frozen in mid-wingbeat for the briefness of the flash.

"_There!_" Astrid cried, her poised axe shaking in her grip.

Toothless fired again. And again and again. The devil above them dove and wove between the blasts, swooping down low among the Vikings. Toothless kept firing...

One blast nearly took Spitelout's head off. He ducked just in time, hitting the ground with a startled, "_Haoh!_ STOP!"

"_Toothless!_" Hiccup cried.

Howling in fright, Snotlout and Fishlegs rolled out of the way and under a table as the thing made another pass at them. Its talons raked the stone, its tail whipping furiously before it swooped back up into the shadows with the agility of a swallow. Ruffnut shot off another arrow and was again rewarded with nothing but the disappointing _clack_ of the shaft against the wall.

For one terrifying moment, nothing could be heard. The Gronckle had become silent. It squatted still as a statue above its fallen mate, its wild eyes glittering in the darkness. Astrid had backed up against a pillar. Her palms were beginning to sweat. _Where was it?_

The barely discernable shape of dark wings coalesced once again into view as the creature bore down on the fire pit. A faint red glow could be seen deep within its gaping, fang-filled maw.

It was going to flame.

And then, with an ungodly roar that was more animal than human, Tuffnut launched himself from where he had climbed up onto the hearth, driving his spear before him with the force of a battering ram.

The two airborne figures collided, the creature's momentum sending them both into a head-over-heels spin, ringed with fire. Tuffnut clung insanely to his weapon as he was wrenched around for nearly an entire rotation before he and the creature tumbled onto the hearthstones and down to the floor on the other side of the fire pit.

Astrid ran, stumbling in the darkness, dimly aware of those around her likewise converging on the scene.

They were both on the floor, the thing still flapping madly, Tuffnut growling angrily. He pulled back his spear and stumbled to his feet. The creature hissed and spat in gurgled in wounded fury.

Shaking, Tuffnut took his spear like a javelin in both hands. "_DIE!_" he roared as he drove it down as hard as he could into the creature's chest. It was the first word he had spoken since their arrival.

The creature let out an earsplitting scream so high and wailing and piercing that Astrid felt as though someone had thrust a pike through her skull. She covered her ears until Spitelout stepped forward and put his axe through the creature's neck, killing it instantly.

The terrible noise was immediately cut off, and silence _rang_ in Astrid's ears.

There was only the beating of her heart, and the panting of those around her. Her own breath came in great shuddering gasps and she became aware that she was shaking uncontrollably. She felt Toothless' hot, angry breath blowing her hair from behind as the Night Fury growled deep in his throat. She heard the sound of Snotlout and Fishlegs shuffling slowly out from under the table and she watched as Ruffnut, huffing and trembling, fumbled to nock another arrow to the string and aim it shakily at the devil on the floor, lest any life remain in it still. Tuffnut stood similarly poised, his spear at the ready, his wide eyes almost feral.

But the shadowy form on the ground did not stir again. Only its pooling blood continued to crawl across the floor, seeping into cracks and staining the stone.

Spitelout removed his axe from the creature's thick neck and, having nothing else to clean it with, wiped it on the bottom of his boot. "It's dead," he said to Tuffnut, and put a hand on the lanky boy's shoulder.

Tuffnut bristled at the touch, heaving a huge gasping breath, and shoved Spitelout's hand away. He took a few brisk steps away from everyone before sinking to his knees beside the fire pit. Dropping his spear softly to the floor, he steadied himself against the hearthstones with one hand. His other hand caught his face as his head fell forward...

"What is it?" Ruffnut asked in a quavering voice, her bowstring still taut.

"It's a dragon," Spitelout frowned.

Ruffnut scoffed, "Well yeah, but—"

"Knowing _names_ doesn't make killing the stuff the names identify any easier," Spitelout grumbled. He leaned down to take a closer look at the creature on the floor.

Astrid looked harder at it herself. It was a dragon all right. But in the darkness it was difficult to discern any of its finer features. She could barely make out the lines of its huge jaws and the glint of its far-forward eyes. The shape of its body was unfamiliar; cruel spikes jutted from its wing-joints and ran down its spine to the tip of its tail. Astrid racked her brain, trying to remember if she had ever seen anything like it in the old Dragon Manual...

Presently Snotlout and Fishlegs came padding softly back to the group, Snotlout sidling up behind Astrid to lay a comforting arm around her shoulders.

But Fishlegs took one look at the beast and said in mild bewilderment, "It's a _Skrill_."

As if triggered by the word, Toothless pressed forward, nosing his way past Astrid and Snotlout, his teeth bared. He inhaled sharply and deeply—

"No-no-no-no-no!" Hiccup exclaimed, falling forward and clamping his dragon's mouth shut, "Don't flame it, bud, it's okay, it's already dead..."

Toothless stopped short, obediently swallowing the unignited gas-wad. But he still snarled viciously at the dead dragon before turning on the spot and leaping away.

Still strapped to the saddle, Hiccup could only hold on and whisper a few heated objections while his Night Fury prowled moodily over to the other side of the room. When Toothless finally sank to his haunches to sulk beside a far pillar, Hiccup dismounted with a squeak. "_Toothless!_" Astrid heard him hiss, "_What's gotten into you?_"

But the black dragon only growled, his dangerously narrowed pupils trained on the spot where the dead Skrill lay.

"Astrid."

Astrid turned at Spitelout's voice. Hope surged up in her chest. Were they finally ready to go? To see her house? To make sure nothing had happened to her parents?

"Go and get the Dragon Manual," Spitelout jerked his head toward the back of the Hall.

Astrid looked in the indicated direction. The shadows that met her eyes seemed to mirror the feeling in her heart as it finally plummeted into the heel of her left boot. She swallowed hard, and took one step to go—

And a distant scream, high and piercing, sounded from somewhere outside.

Astrid froze. Spitelout and Fishlegs looked up from the Skrill on the floor. Ruffnut gasped and pulled her arrow back tighter against the string. A muffled clattering echoed near the edge of the fire pit, and Astrid turned to see Tuffnut back on his feet, his spear at the ready.

A soft and nervous chittering could be heard from the pack-Nadders outside. The Gronckle, which had been silent for several minutes, shifted its position with a low whine. It sniffed the air warily.

"Astrid, get the book," Spitelout repeated, his voice hardening. Shifting his bearing once again to that of a seasoned soldier, he strode slowly and evenly toward the doors, his axe at the ready, his unflinching eyes as sharp as daggers.

"Dad...?" Snotlout began.

"_Wait_," the old hunter signaled his son to stay back as another scream rang through the frigid air outside.

Astrid hurried into the darkness at the back of the Hall, a small tendril of panic uncurling in her belly. She passed Hiccup and Toothless, their faces ghostlike as they both watched the door, transfixed, waiting for Spitelout to reach it, waiting to see.

She quickly rounded a pillar behind which she knew would be a smaller fireplace, bordered by the mantle and shelves that were home to every book and scroll on the island.

But all she found was a wreck of blackened wood and charcoal, scattered all over with singed bits of parchment. There were no books to speak of, much less the wanted Dragon Manual. Only Speck the Terrible Terror sat whole and well in the midst of the small pocket of ruin, cringing at the back of the fireplace.

Astrid stood in dumb disbelief for a moment before turning back and calling softly, "The Dragon Manual isn't here! All the books are gone."

"Oh wait!" Fishlegs piped up, making Ruffnut jump and accidentally shoot an arrow into the dead Skrill, "The Dragon Manual's in my basket! It's tied to Miniboss' saddle—I took it on the trip with us!"

Astrid started toward the door and Fishlegs moved to join her.

Another scream, much closer than the other two, pierced the darkening sky.

At this the Gronckle stood bolt upright and set its small wings into a powerful blur, winding up in a thrumming drone that startled everybody.

Spitelout stopped and turned just before he reached the door to see the injured dragon barreling toward him through the air. He stepped coolly aside as the Gronckle careened past in a frantic arc, scrabbling to get outside. Its huge paws flailing, it flung one door wide with a _grooaan_ and a _crash_ before hurtling into the sky.

Astrid quickened her pace. She could see Quill through the open doorway. His head and tail were lowered, his wide eyes nervously sweeping the dim sky as he huddled close to Miniboss and the other dragons on the shelf of rock outside. The dragons' heads turned in unison as they watched the departing Gronckle take off to the west-northwest.

And then with a yearning grumble, Miniboss set his own wings buzzing. He lifted slowly from the ground...

"No!" Spitelout broke into a run. "No no no—oy dragon!" He waved his arms as Miniboss turned in the direction the other Gronckle had gone.

"What's going on?" Fishlegs hollered, his strained voice cracking terribly.

Astrid's boots hammered the stone as she ran. "Your dragon!" she called back. But looking forward again she gasped, "No... _my_ dragon!"

For Quill had come out of his trembling cringe and spread wide his wings. He leaped into the air after Miniboss.

"Quill! _Quill, stop!_" she cried.

Spitelout had blown past the threshold and come to a pounding halt on the upper landing of the stairway outside. He did nothing, _absolutely nothing_, as his own dragon and the three pack-Nadders, still tethered together, followed after Quill and took to the sky before his eyes, departing en masse like a flock of birds.

"Quill! Gravy! Stubs! Come back!" Astrid pelted angrily out the door to run past her mentor, but the old hunter's iron hands clamped around her shoulders like a vice.

She wrenched herself in vain to break free of his grip. "_Master Jorgenson let me GO!_" she yelled. Only Snotlout's Nightmare and the twins' Zippleback remained on the shelf. She could see the Nightmare making ready to spring into the air after the other dragons...

A black streak shot by her right side. Hiccup and Toothless landed mere inches in front of the Monstrous Nightmare's nose, blocking her way forward. "Fireworm! Just calm down, girl—" Hiccup tried to soothe the huge red dragon, his hands outstretched placatingly.

"HICCUP!" Spitelout bellowed.

Astrid stopped struggling and turned to face her mentor, furious and confused that he would call Hiccup back from reining in their wayward dragons.

But Spitelout wasn't even looking at Hiccup.

He was looking at the sky.

Astrid followed his gaze... and felt her grip on his burly wrists turn to jelly.

The massive, dark cloud above the island of Berk roiled and writhed and undulated like some gigantic, unholy jellyfish. It screamed and shrieked a terrible song of insatiable bloodlust as it wheeled steadily lower, its individual members coming very slowly, and yet all too quickly, into clearer view.

"Where's Miniboss? The Dragon Manual?" Fishlegs panted as he finally stumbled to the threshold.

"What are you guys looking at?" Hiccup asked a second later, his hands still outstretched toward Fireworm's nose.

And all eyes turned heavenward.

Hundreds... _thousands_ of dragons flapped and rolled and banked high overhead, dipping closer and closer to the island—a veritable _plague_ of Skrill, peppered throughout with an array of strange and colorful breeds Astrid had never seen before.

One edge of the swarm sharpened and twisted downward like a cyclone, moving faster than the wind, reaching like a malevolent tentacle for the fleeing dragons... reaching for _Quill_...

"Get the dragons inside," whispered Spitelout, loosening his grip on Astrid.

But no one moved. The Vikings merely watched, helpless to do anything, as the twining column of Skrill descended upon the Gronckles and the Nadders skimming away over the dark ocean.

They were so far away now that in the last hazy light of the evening, Astrid could no longer tell which dragon was hers. But despite the speed of her dragon's escape, her heart wilted within her. Their mounts had been tired, _fatigued_ by their long journey from Forget Me. They couldn't possibly keep up such a pace. And worse, they were still burdened with their baskets and full saddlebags—full of _fresh meat!_ They didn't stand a chance!

_And neither do we_, Astrid thought suddenly and unexpectedly.

_There goes all our food_.

The screams of the Skrill grew higher and louder as they honed in on their prey, lancing through the smaller flock like a dagger. One Nadder went down with a distant shriek, the Skrill hammering into it one after another, latching on tooth and claw to send it spiraling toward the waves under a mass of dark, flapping wings and lashing tails. Its pained and panicked cries were _grievous_ to hear... Astrid thought she saw one of the Gronckles expel a fireball—

"I said _get the dragons inside_, NOW!" Spitelout roared.

Dragon-screams pierced the air overhead as another group of Skrill spun toward the Great Hall.

As though broken from a trance, the Vikings snapped back to attention and began to move. Spitelout pressed Astrid back toward the doors. "_Get in the Hall_," he ordered. He moved toward the Nightmare and the Zippleback, his eyes still on the sky.

"Fireworm! Come!" Snotlout yelled frantically from the entrance, "Come _NOW!_ Fireworm!"

Astrid turned to see that he and the twins had joined Fishlegs in the doorway. Snotlout and Tuffnut walked haltingly forward, their weapons held firmly before them.

"Belch, Flint, _come on!_" Ruffnut shrieked.

There was a high-pitched rushing sound, like the crashing of a wave, and the upper landing of the stairway was momentarily bathed in blue light. Toothless' white-hot fireball shot upward like a comet, detonating with a thundering explosion among the foremost inbound Skrill. Four of them were blown tumbling through the air, screeching and flapping drunkenly to regain themselves. One of them fell dead.

Tuffnut and the Jorgensons ran forward to lead their dragons into the Hall, while Toothless fired again and again, felling the beasts out of the sky.

He may as well have been plinking pebbles at an oncoming tidal wave.

His fireballs exploded at lower and lower altitudes as the dark tide of dragons streaked down toward them like an evil rain.

Astrid wished Quill were there—she wished she could do something, _anything_...

The door caught her eye. "Ruff, help me!" she called, gesturing toward the one door that was still closed. The girls quickly pulled it wide open to make room for the approaching dragons. "Fishlegs, get ready to close the other door!"

"Right, right!" Fishlegs squeaked, and steadied himself shakily behind the other door, ready to slam it.

As the Skrill drew nearer, Fireworm arched her back and burst into flame with a roar.

"_Ah!_" Snotlout released his dragon's harness and jumped back, stifling his mitten into his overcoat to snuff out the flames. "Fireworm, _NO!_" he scolded. He dashed in close enough to yank the emergency strap that released the saddle.

All Monstrous Nightmare saddles were constructed with this feature as a precaution in the event that the dragons wearing them set their skins alight at the wrong time. Astrid had never seen it _successfully _implemented before. But as Fireworm quickly slithered past her and into the Hall in a whirl of heat, her saddle and the two loads she carried indeed slipped from her back and tumbled to the ground, catching fire anyway as she tramped over them. Snotlout hurriedly dragged them inside and began to bat out the flames with his hands.

"Come on you big slug!" Tuffnut grunted through gritted teeth as he pulled his Zippleback forward.

"_Hurry up!_" Hiccup screamed over his shoulder. He and Toothless were backing in behind the Zippleback, Spitelout at their side.

And then the Skrill were upon them.

_Flames_ and _teeth_ and _talons_ and _spikes_ _raked_ across the upper landing in a _whirlwind_ as the invading dragons made their pass at their prey. Spitelout's axe arced through the air, deflecting blow after deadly blow. Toothless snarled and snapped, roaring and howling and blasting, Hiccup cringing low on his back, his axe held blindly over his head like a shield.

Belch twined round with a shriek and blew a jet of green gas into the chaos.

Astrid heard a "_No!_" from Spitelout before the gas cloud was inadvertently ignited by the flame of a swooping Skrill, and all sound was lost beneath the deafening _ba-DOOOOOMMMM_ of the explosion.

Astrid and Ruffnut were knocked off their feet and thrown to the floor. Her ears ringing, Astrid raised her head to see Fishlegs similarly grounded across the way. She felt the wind of beating wings as several Skrill flew into the Hall. Dimly she heard Fireworm's roaring as the flaming Nightmare and the invading Skrill set upon each other in a blazing tangle of claws and wings, throwing the gigantic room into a rippling cascade of firelight and shadow. Snotlout looked on from where he stood by his saddle and basket, brandishing his mace uncertainly. There was nothing he could realistically do to aid his mount. He only called her name in despair.

Astrid wondered if her hearing was having trouble returning, as she could make out very little sound from the landing outside. But the ringing in her ears quickly faded, and she could soon hear Fireworm's yowling and the Skrill's screaming with crystal clarity.

But outside, beyond the residual smoke from the explosion, she could hear nothing but the distant screams of the Skrill higher up in the sky.

Her heart redoubled its hammering and her mind spun into a black fall. _What happened to Hiccup?_

She staggered to her feet and back to the door, and was nearly bowled over by the Thorstons' incoming Zippleback. It scrabbled into the Hall and rounded the corner, nearly trampling Fishlegs before creeping back behind the first pillar in the room.

The two-headed dragon was closely followed by Spitelout, coming in at a jog, one burly arm supporting the unsteady shoulders of a stumbling, cursing Tuffnut. The lanky boy gripped his head as though pained.

"_Tuff!_" Ruffnut cried, getting to her feet.

"_Where's Hiccup?_" Astrid shouted at the same time.

And then there was a shriek from the ceiling overhead, and both girls leaped out of the way as a Skrill dove down toward them, spewing bright orange flame.

"_Close it close it close it close it!_" came Hiccup's voice as he and Toothless blew into the room in a black blur.

Astrid and Ruffnut threw their weight against one door while Spitelout and Fishlegs pushed against the other. The two halves slammed into place with a _bang_, muffling the returning screams outside.

"_Snotlout get that bench!_" Spitelout called to his son, gesturing with his eyes and keeping his palms flat against the door. "_Don't move_," he added to Astrid as she and Ruffnut started to step away. He braced his feet in a wide stance. "Fishlegs, go push on the other door," he ordered, and the rotund young Viking hurried around his mentor and joined the girls on the other side. "_You're_ the Manual now—what do you know about Skrill?" the old hunter continued.

Before Fishlegs could answer, a terrific impact from the outside buffeted the four of them back momentarily. They lunged back against the door with renewed vigor, straining to keep their feet planted firmly on the slick stone.

"Skrill, Skrill, uh..." Fishlegs muttered quickly, "That one had kind of a long entry—"

"_Think_, boy! What do you remember?"

"Only that they're poisonous!"

Astrid could have sworn Spitelout's eye began to twitch.

"Venom... _thirteen_," Fishlegs continued, "armor seven, speed eighteen—its firepower was only _four_, though."

"Oh, _that_ makes me feel a _WHOLE_ lot better!" Ruffnut wailed sarcastically.

Tuffnut appeared and leaned wearily against the door beside his sister.

"Tuffnut, get your _dragon_ over here to help us—we need more weight!" Spitelout grunted as he repositioned his shoulder against the wood.

As Tuffnut stumbled away, there was another scream from above.

The Vikings' eyes snapped up to the shadowy ceiling and fixed on the Skrill plummeting in their direction. Spitelout spared one arm and two heartbeats to step away from the door and hurl his axe. It connected with the Skrill's shoulder and dropped it to the ground where Toothless finished it off with a jet of flame to the face.

The great doors shuddered again, opening slightly. A black spike pierced through the crack between them, passing a hairsbreadth from Astrid's nose. Spitelout quickly regained his position against the door as the shrieks of the monsters outside grew louder and more feverish. Astrid brought her axe violently down on the bony protrusion, and the creature it belonged to retreated with a shriek.

The doors closed again.

"Here's the bench!" called Snotlout. He and Hiccup approached with the long, splintered plank of ash wood.

"Slip it through the handles," Spitelout ordered. Snotlout and Hiccup ran their load over to one side. Astrid, Ruffnut and Fishlegs flattened themselves against the doors, giving the others enough room to maneuver the broad plank flush against the wood above their heads and through the two handles near the door seam.

The roiling dance of orange light and black shadow made everything impossible. "_Push it higher!_" Hiccup called in Astrid's ear as he trembled and strained to hold the plank steady above her head.

There was another scream and a flash of blue light, and another Skrill fell dead, glancing off a pillar and tumbling against the wall with a crunch. The free-roaming Toothless gave it another blast to the face for good measure before moving on to a new target.

Astrid reached round and banged the bench a few inches higher with the heel of her palm. It scudded over the lower lip of the first handle, and the Vikings scrambled, heedless of scrapes and splinters, to push it all the way through, barring the doors together.

The doors shook again as the Skrill outside hurled themselves against the wood. But the plank, and the Vikings, held firm for the moment.

"Dad! _Fireworm!_" Snotlout pled.

All heads turned toward the chaos at the far end of the Hall. Snotlout's Monstrous Nightmare, her flaming hide beginning to flicker out, still _coiled_ and _scratched_ and _bit_ to get at the Skrill attached to her leg. Tables and chairs were knocked aside and set alight, smashed to smoldering smithereens.

Another Skrill wheeled overhead, making ready to dive into the fray. Toothless fired off another blast—somewhat weaker, Astrid noticed, than his previous projectiles. His gas was beginning to run dry.

The shot missed. The Skrill bore down on Fireworm, clamping onto her neck, and the Monstrous Nightmare reared up with a roar of pain and fury.

"Toothless!" Hiccup cried, pointing.

But the Night Fury was already bounding across the floor in a blur. Toothless leaped up and _slammed_ into the Skrill on Fireworm's neck, breaking its grip and pinning it against the far wall before dropping back down to the floor.

The stunned Skrill regained itself and flapped up toward the ceiling, where the disabled Night Fury could not follow without his rider. He could only circle and snarl and glare from below, his wings and fins flaring and twitching menacingly.

"I got it..." Ruffnut said, steadily raising her bow. Astrid looked up and noticed how well-lit the ceiling was now. _Too many things were burning_. There were no more shadows to hide in.

Ruffnut let fly, and caught the Skrill squarely between its ribs. It plummeted downward with a scream...

Fireworm finally took the last Skrill in her enormous jaws and pulled it from where it clung to her hindquarters. With a vicious snarl she flung it against a pillar, where it cracked several of its dorsal spikes before falling to the floor and scuttling frenetically to right itself.

Toothless sprang forward and landed bristling between Skrill and Nightmare, his auricles laid completely flat, his teeth flashing, his claws _itching_ for flesh to rend. The Skrill crouched low before him, hissing, the huge spikes of its winged forelegs poised on the ground, ready to spring.

But before it could move again, Fireworm opened her mouth, and spewed out a _torrent_ of flaming, sticky, molten slaver, swamping the smaller dragon in a viscous, bubbly glaze of fire.

The Skrill leaped into the air with a terrible scream, flapping in vain as the heavy, semisolid flame dragged it back to the floor. Fireworm spewed again, and the Skrill's cries were buried beneath the flaming, gelatinous heap.

It did not move again.

In the precarious new silence, Astrid felt another bump against her back. Skrill were still trying to get in from the outside. She leaned harder into the door...

"_Tuffnut, where's your dragon?_" Spitelout bellowed.

"Belch, come here!" Ruffnut called.

But the Zippleback didn't come.

"Tuff?" Ruffnut called again, her voice tightening.

"_Sorry_—I had... a problem," Tuffnut grunted as he sulked back toward the group. His spear-tip glistened with dragons' blood.

"Where's Belch and Flint?" asked Ruffnut.

"They're not coming," said Tuffnut, "They're too scared."

The doors shuddered again. Astrid thought she could hear the rushing of fiery breath outside...

"We'll need something stronger to hold this," said Spitelout, "Are there any more of those devils in here?"

"I don't think so," said Fishlegs, "I counted. There were just those six."

"_Good_," Spitelout grunted, "Now we need—"

"_Dad?_" Snotlout piped up.

The old hunter looked at his son's pleading eyes... and at the Monstrous Nightmare trembling at the far end of the Hall. He took a careful look all around the ceiling to be certain the threat had been dealt with, and then nodded his head. "Go," he said.

And Snotlout abandoned the quivering door, and ran toward his dragon.

"Bring back another bench and a table!" his father called after him, adding "Tuffnut, go with him."

Tuffnut rubbed his brow and walked slowly after his friend.

"_Quickly_," the old hunter growled.

"Will that be able to hold the doors?" asked Hiccup.

"It's all we've got for now," said Spitelout, "_Work_ with it—better yet, go and extinguish anything burning that isn't in the fire pit."

And Hiccup hurried away, slipping off his overcoat to use as a snuffer.

The doors shuddered again beneath Astrid's back as she felt the raking of claws on the other side.

What was she _doing?_ How in the world had she come to be here, alone with her fellow pupils and fighting for her life? In the relative calmness of the moment her thoughts boiled over dangerously. _Why was this happening?_ What had they done that was so awful that Odin had seen fit to plague them all with death on dark wings?

Their plight was grim. She couldn't see how they were going to get out of this...

She wanted to scream.

In her mind's eye she saw the million Skrill outside, still flapping and flaming and scratching and biting, plastered to the doors, _shrieking_ to get into the Hall... when all she wanted was to get _out_.

She was never going to see her home.

She was never going to find out what had happened to her parents.

_It wasn't fair_.

She tried to remember the last words they had exchanged before she had set out for Forget Me... but was distracted by an angry hiss from Fireworm.

The Monstrous Nightmare spewed again, creating a large flaming puddle all over the floor between her winged forelegs.

"_Fireworm, what's the matter?_" she heard Snotlout plead as he backed away, shielding his face from the spreading heat.

Toothless, who had until that time been circling and whining and sniffing the larger dragon concernedly, took a few respectful steps backward as well.

Fireworm only sank to the floor and rolled over, wallowing like a gigantic, scaly pig in the molten slaver.

"Is she trying to reignite her skin?" asked Fishlegs with interest.

"Snotlout, just get the bench!" the old hunter reminded his son.

Tuffnut had reached Snotlout's side. He took him wearily by the shoulder and pulled him round, gesturing to another splintered plank. They each grabbed an end...

Inside a few minutes, the doors had been barred with two more benches, and blockaded with two tables, upon which Hiccup had directed Toothless to sit. But the Night Fury twitched and snarled at every bump to the door, hissing viciously and looking like he truly longed to make something blow up.

The tables still skidded out a few inches every now and then, regardless of the Night Fury's weight, and so Hiccup shortly released his dragon from this post.

Toothless was only too eager to trot back and stand watchfully beside Fireworm as she lay in her mire of flame. They nosed each other cautiously, Toothless occasionally padding across the viscous, steaming liquid and hocking out his own little flames to land fizzling on her skin.

Fishlegs, Astrid was slightly disturbed to note, could hardly contain himself for curiosity, and was _aching_ to go and observe the dragons' behavior more closely.

However, as the ponderous Zippleback still could not be coaxed out from its corner to help steady the barricade, Spitelout had held Fishlegs back, along with everyone else, in order for the Vikings themselves to take up positions on the tables instead.

And there the seven of them sat, exhausted, frightened, and _hungry_.

They said nothing, and sat without stirring, only getting down every few minutes to push the shifting tables up against the doors again.

How long this went on Astrid did not know, though she thought the screams of the devils outside were beginning to lessen and fade, the eternities between the readjustments to the tables becoming increasingly longer and heavier...

She only wanted to see her parents again...

She only wanted to go _home_.

Was that too much to ask of the good god Odin?

_Why was she trapped here in this nightmare that would never end...?_

The wood beneath her seat jolted again and her eyes snapped open. Had she dozed off?

Nothing had changed. The Vikings still held the tables firmly in place under their weight. Some sat back to back, their legs hanging off the edges. Others sat cross-legged, hunched over with elbows on knees, or with fingers shoved into armpits for extra warmth. Fishlegs rocked slowly backward and forward in this position, his shadow moving over the door in time like a pendulum. Ruffnut lay curled on her side like a cat, her helmet off and her long braids wadded up beneath her head for a pillow, her eyes fixed on the wall.

No, the tables hadn't moved, Astrid realized. Someone had been speaking.

"It was my first dragon-kill," Tuffnut finished.

"Well then," said Spitelout quietly, "We'll have to tell Gobber about it—I'm sure he'd be proud."

Fishlegs' stomach growled noisily, and Astrid felt her brow depress in commiseration.

"I'm sorry," said Hiccup to no one in particular, "I should've gone after the Nadders. Me and Toothless—we should've been faster—" His voice cut off, and he sighed.

"We'll make do with what we have for now," Spitelout assured him after a moment.

A small eternity of breathing and heartbeats passed. Astrid stared dismally at the floor. The shadows were deeper now. Fireworm's molten puddle had all but sizzled out. Only the dying fire in the central pit still cast its feeble glow into the huge darkness of the Great Hall.

She hoped Quill had been able to get away...

_All their food_... _gone_...

And then a shaft of dark lightning shot up her spine and crackled in her brain. Her eyebrows flicked briefly upward as she inhaled sharply. Her hand strayed slowly to the pouch on her belt.

Not _all_ their food was gone.

She remembered. That _huge_ strip of jerky she had saved for last... She still had it. _On_ her very person. Her mouth began to water.

But she didn't dare eat it here and now. Not when everyone else had _nothing_.

But, one thought in her mind reproved her gently, she shouldn't be keeping it all to herself anyway.

Astrid's heart cracked in two. She was so _hungry_.

_But so is everyone else_, the thought nudged her again. Its tone felt strikingly similar to the voice of Astrid's mother.

But she had saved it for _herself_. Everyone _else_ had been given the same portions.

_But that was before_. _This is now_, came the thought again.

Her fingers fumbled at the pouch's clasp. She couldn't stop herself.

What was she thinking? She couldn't _split it up_... The seven pieces would be so pitifully small that it wouldn't make a difference anyway.

But out came the jerky, followed by a slight raising of heads... and then a small cascade of soft, envious gasps.

"I forgot I had this," Astrid said mechanically, automatically... _ruefully_. She took the knife from her belt and set to slicing the thick, _beautifully_ cured venison into smaller pieces. Her eyes threatened to crumble like a weathered dam and spill a torrent of salt tears down her cheeks as she watched her hands moving on their own, dividing up the meager morsel that could very well prove to be their last meal.

She gathered up the small, sweet-smelling pile and held it like _gold_ in her palms for only a few precious seconds, before taking one piece of it, and dropping it into the first reaching hand.

It was Ruffnut's.

Their eyes met in sadness and gratitude, and Astrid moved on, to Tuffnut, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Spitelout, and lastly Hiccup.

Hiccup took her whole hand in both of his until she brought her eyes up to meet his gaze.

How much _easier_ it was to land an axe on a distant moving target than it was to fight back the blasted, infinitesimal stinging in her eyes!

"Thanks, Astrid," Hiccup murmured with a pained little smile, and he released her hand as she let fall his share into his palm.

"Thank you," Spitelout repeated, and the others followed suit in hushed and grateful voices.

A scream whirled down through the air and ended in a jolting _crash_ against the doors, sending the table scudding a few inches into the room.

"They're coming back," said Spitelout, and Astrid got down to help move the table again.**  
**


	4. Daybreak

**_Author's Notes_: I. AM. NOT. DEAD. Here's another chapter. Well... _half_ of the chapter I originally intended to post. How do these things keep getting so _long? _Anyway the full thing wouldn't fit on DA, sooooo I chopped it. Whut.**

**Anyway, please let me know if you spot any spelling/grammatical/punctuation/spacing goofs!**

**Thanks everybody! ENJOY! ^_^**

* * *

**Rated T for Teen, for reasons of**

**Violence**  
**Scariness**  
**Booze  
****and** **Mortality**

**Reader discretion is advised.**

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- X - X - X - X - X -

* * *

******Chapter 4 – Daybreak**

_Someone gasped_.

When Tuffnut Thorston Jr. awoke, he immediately wished he hadn't, for the dull and rhythmic throbbing in his skull. Sensing faint light through his still-closed eyelids, he reached lazily up, grabbed one thick hank of his long hair and cast it over his face.

And then he remembered why his head was hurting. His sister's idiot dragon had blown a gas-cloud right into the middle of—

His eyes opened beneath the screen of his dirty-blonde mop, and he found himself to be lying on a table.

And he remembered the Skrill. And he remembered the noise, and the running, and the _killing_... And he remembered Berk.

And he remembered his home.

One hand slid under his coat to the pocket in his vest. His ring was still there.

His heart stopped beating and became an icy stone within his chest.

He closed his eyes again and tried to go back to sleep—normally a very easy feat for him. But more and more of the previous night kept flooding relentlessly into his memory, setting his mind to spinning in circles, faster and faster, barring the way back into the blissful darkness until there was nowhere left for him to retreat to.

He could only lie with his eyes shut, feeling the tickle across his nose of one wisp of hair as it moved with his breath.

_He wished he had not woken up_.

_Ever_.

Presently he became aware of a singularly unpleasant _squelching _sound coming from somewhere far away...

_The Skrill?_

He sat up—_slowly_, _silently_, flicking the curtain of hair from his eyes with a jerk of his head—and was alarmed to discover the table space around him to be quite empty.

A weak shaft of white daylight speared into the Great Hall from the tiny flue in the ceiling, glancing off a decorative bronze dragon figure suspended over the fire pit and throwing its scanty glow into the dimness.

Tuffnut's wide eyes quickly darted around the emptiness of the room, his ears detecting nothing but that wet, sucking sound...

The Skrill had been unable to get in, hadn't they? He would have known if any of them had found a way inside, or had attacked or _devoured_ anyone, he was _sure _of it. They had made enough of a racket last night... He'd have known about it if they got in...

His gut began to squirm as he squinted into the shadows where he thought the noise was coming from. _Where the plague was everyone?_

A soft grunt sounded behind him, and he was instantly turning round, skidding into a crouch, his hand gripping his knife—

He wasn't alone on the tables after all. Almost right up against the mighty doors, Spitelout sat stiff and bowed, inhaling deeply through his nose in a weary sigh and squeezing his baggy eyes. Seeming to feel the disturbance in the wooden boards, the old hunter blinked his eyes open for a few bleary seconds to regard the wakeful Tuffnut.

"They've been gone a long time," he murmured, closing his eyes again and drawing his cloak a little tighter about himself. He yawned hugely and sniffed, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Tuffnut wondered if Spitelout had been awake all night. He'd always figured the man was part devil, or that he had at least made some kind of unholy pact with Loki or _something_, for the freakish energy he could sustain throughout a full day of hunting without ever seeming to need to rest. Upon reflection, Tuffnut could not recall a single instance of ever seeing his mentor asleep.

But apparently even Master Jorgenson had his limits, and it looked like he was pushing them.

The lanky boy slipped from the tabletop and took another look about the Hall. With the sleep gone from his eyes he could see now—there was Snotlout, snoring away on a table at the far end of the room, in the heat of the charred stone floor beside his Nightmare. Hiccup and Fishlegs had likewise stolen away from the barricade at some point in the night, to climb up onto the hearth and take advantage of the fire pit's warmth.

Tuffnut shivered. _Blow it_, was he the _only one _to have spent the whole night on the freezing tabletop? Except for Spitelout, of course. But then Spitelout was part devil and wouldn't have minded anyway.

Taking a few steps toward the squelching sound, Tuffnut caught sight of his dozing Zippleback; it still hadn't moved from its hiding place behind the pillar. Curled up in the fork between its necks were his sister and Astrid, snuggled under a red-and-grey blanket—

That was from his house, from the chest beneath the stairs. His mother had made it. He had watched her years ago as she worked on it, _on the table_—

Tuffnut shook the intrusive images of his home from his mind. Ruffnut must have collected it yesterday when she and Spitelout had gone searching for supplies.

She could have had the decency to bring _him _something warm in the night too.

He sullenly hoped the stupid _girls _had slept comfortably.

He gritted his teeth and kept walking. The dead Skrill from last night still lay strewn here and there about the floor of the Great Hall, some slumped in spiky, rounded heaps, others clawing the air in frozen contortion. His steps took him right past the first of them, the one he had brought down with his spear.

In the soft daylight, Tuffnut could see for the first time just how _big _it was. Its glassy eyes stared, partially covered by the lower lids as if in a wicked grin. Its huge mouth still gaped in a silent scream.

His head could easily fit inside those jaws.

Tuffnut wondered if, had he been able to see the creature more clearly, he would have attacked it so boldly after all.

His mind went dark with memory. _Yes_, he concluded almost immediately. _He would have_.

The disgusting slurping noise was just on the other side of the next pillar. Tuffnut took a few more steps... and there was the dead Gronckle, and—a small movement made the boy start—

But it was only Spitelout's little flying rat, Speck.

The Terrible Terror paused for only a moment to regard the Viking with wide yellow eyes... and then he plunged his head back into the little hole he had gouged out of the dead dragon's belly. The sucking, smacking noise continued as the little dragon gorged on the innards within.

The spectacle smelled of nothing beautiful.

Tuffnut's lip curled, his brow depressing in a disgusted grimace as he watched the forms of the Terror's horns and snout moving beneath the warty skin of the Gronckle. It was... kind of interesting, actually...

Someone gasped again.

Tuffnut rounded the pillar completely and glanced back up the south wall. Away in the corner, Astrid was stirring. She cast off her half of the blanket and sat up, rubbing both hands shakily down her face. It was strange and slightly surprising to see her without her pauldrons on; she seemed somehow smaller without them.

Even more surprising was the realization that she was wearing one of his tunics.

Tuffnut felt his eyes widen in mild outrage... but his anger was short-lived. It was his own fault for not going into his house with Ruffnut yesterday; he probably could have kept a better eye on which items of _his_ she now felt so free in distributing to her _friends_.

He'd get his shirt back later. For now he only watched as Astrid jumped to her socked feet... and promptly stumbled, flailing clumsily for the support of the nearest pillar. She lowered her head, panting. It looked like she'd gotten up too fast.

Still leaning against the column with one hand, she reached down with the other to pull her boots onto her feet. After that it was a soft jump over Flint's outstretched neck before she disappeared to the other side of the line of pillars.

Tuffnut came back round his own pillar, toward the center of the room. Astrid was already at the barricade, up and kneeling on the table, with one hand on Spitelout's back as he sat facing away from her. Only the occasional delicate _hiss _of their whispering made it back to Tuffnut's ears.

He listened to it dumbly for a few moments before he found himself unable to care or even wonder about whatever they were saying anyway. His eyes and ears gravitated instead back to the object of next-greatest interest in the immediate vicinity: Speck the Terrible Terror was now delving deeply into the Gronckle's belly, though perhaps not quite as voraciously as before. He paused and emerged now and again to heave a tiny little sigh, look about the room, and lick the extraneous juices from his face and talons.

_Lucky little creep_, Tuffnut thought. _Not a care in the world except what to _eat_ next_.

Why couldn't life be that simple?

Forever?

Tuffnut looked at the Gronckle. He wondered vaguely if dragon meat would be good to eat. He took a few steps closer. _Loki's armpits_ but that thing _reeked_. It had probably been dead too long.

He turned away. He didn't feel hungry anyway.

How could he ever feel like eating again?

He didn't want to do anything.

He only wished he could have _just stayed asleep_.

His back and shoulders found the pillar, and he slid down its rough-cut surface to the ground. With the flying rat finally quieting down its gorging behind him, Tuffnut was able to catch a few words from the conversation at the barricade. _Sure_. _Chance_. _Axe_. _House_.

The sounds became more and more meaningless, melting into an irritating drone and finally disappearing into his buzzing headache. As he stared at the cold stone floor between his feet, he thought of his home again. He didn't mean to, and he didn't _want _to... but he couldn't help it.

The Great Hall evaporated and all he could see was the dingy interior of his house. The shields gone. The fire pit cold. The table empty. Almost.

He could see his father's face, hear his father's voice, his laughter like icy gravel. He could feel the hearty punch to his shoulder and reassuring clap to his helmet before he'd left for Forget Me. How he'd _complained_ about having to be stuck with Spitelout for _three whole weeks_—it was a fate worse than _death_.

And it _had _been, in all honesty.

"_It'll be good for you_."

That's what his father had said.

"_Make me proud, boy_."

_Yeah, right_. Tuffnut gave a bitter snort of laughter. How could he ever hope to live up to anything his father ever did?

Not one Viking on the entire island of Berk, not even Chief Stoick the Vast himself, had killed more dragons than Tuffnut the Elder. _Terrible Tuffnut_ they called him. With his halberd in his hands he was a master of speed, brutality, and the administration of general torment. Rumor had it he had even once made a _Gronckle cry_. He could bring down a _score _of dragons in one night, if the raid were bad enough. All the boys knew he was the one to see after an attack if they wanted to get their mitts on an armful of still-twitching Terror tails to play with.

Young Tuffnut remembered the game fondly; his dad would always secretly slip him the freshest one, so that when they all dropped them in the middle of the dirt circle... _his _would usually be the one to wriggle and dance its way out first. He'd won so many bets that way...

No one ever saw so many dragonhead trophies mounted so consistently in one place than outside the Thorston home. _No one _killed more dragons than Terrible Tuffnut.

Tuffnut Jr. had hoped to one day surpass that standing. He and Ruffnut both. _The Vicious Twins_. That's what people were going to call them. Together (so long as Ruff could keep from being an idiot) they were going to hunt down and destroy every last dragon that so much as even _snorted _in the direction of Berk.

And indeed, hunting under Spitelout's tutelage, as horrible as it was, would have made for good practice. But Tuffnut knew it could never happen _now_. Not with the peace they had come to with the dragons.

_Then again_...

Tuffnut's eyes came back to reality, and he focused once more on the dead Skrill in front of him.

His nose and brow twitched toward each other, slowly simmering into an ugly boil and bubbling over in a heated sneer as his teeth clenched together. _Vicious_...

It wasn't so big. Under all those spikes and teeth and claws... it was _wretched_ and _small_ and _empty_. The lowest, meanest dreg of slime that would ever regret crawling out of its dank hole in the earth.

Somehow his hand had found its way back under his coat and into his vest pocket. The ring's edge cut into his palm as he clenched it tightly in his fist.

_He was going to slaughter them all_.

His head began to pound once more, throbbing in perfect time... or so he thought, until he looked up and realized the drumbeat was coming from Astrid's boots as she strode across his view toward the back of the Hall.

She stopped at Snotlout's table and shook the burly boy awake. Tuffnut could hear the words of their whispered exchange... but couldn't bring himself to comprehend them. What was he doing?

"_Tuffnut_," said Spitelout for what the young Viking realized was the second time.

He looked to his left, and there stood his mentor. He hadn't even heard the man's approach.

"The three of us are going out to have a look," the old hunter began. His voice was hoarse and raw. "You and the others start hauling these Skrill out of here. Just lay them out on the stairs to start with; don't throw them over or cause any rock-falls. Do you understand?"

Tuffnut nodded his head.

"Good." Spitelout paused and sighed heavily. "The devils seem to have gone for now, but if they come back, don't wait for us. Bar the doors."

And with a final stern look he moved off after Astrid.

Tuffnut watched them all as he tried to digest the words. Astrid and Spitelout talking. Snotlout getting down from his table. Looking at his dragon. Patting and scratching her head. Astrid coming back across the room.

_Ugh, why his shirt? _He couldn't tell if she looked better for wearing it... or it looked worse for being on her.

Looking on in a fury too depressed to be acted upon, he watched as Astrid belted his tunic snugly around her waist, crinkling the material (it really was too big for her), and ran the clasps of her pauldrons through the fabric over her shoulders.

_That had better not tear_, he thought grudgingly.

She then pulled on her dearest Skirt Of Death over her trousers, finally completing her dangerous, armored silhouette.

Hefting her axe with a fondness Tuffnut always found slightly disturbing, she resigned herself to stand beside the barricade, waiting tensely for the others. Her efforts to appear patient were certainly heroic... but completely in vain. For how motionlessly she stood, she seemed to draw every eye in the room with a gravity that could swallow the sun.

She screamed without making a sound.

Momentarily, the Jorgensons started back toward the doors as well, Snotlout lagging slightly behind to glance over his shoulder every few steps.

His Monstrous Nightmare at the back of the Hall returned no such looks.

"Tuffnut," Spitelout beckoned with a wave of his arm, "Come help us with the tables."

It was a few moments before Tuffnut was able to muster enough willpower to respond to this. But with a very great effort, he managed to slouch his way back up the pillar, and sulk toward the barricade.

With the four of them each taking a corner, they were able to lift the tables clear of the ground and move them out of the way in silence. The three benches were likewise removed from the door handles with the utmost care, and laid quietly on the floor nearby.

The Vikings exchanged a few hesitant looks before Spitelout took one handle in a sure grip, and very slowly, very _gently_... pulled.

A blinding crack of daylight split the room in half, stinging Tuffnut's eyes. Protesting pops and creaks from the massive hinges resounded like mallet-strokes off the stone walls. The widening glimpse of the outside was almost too bright to look at after the long night in the dark. Tuffnut hoped no one noticed as his eyes involuntarily began to tear.

Squinting against the glare, Spitelout took one cautious step through the narrow gap, his axe poised, ready for anything. His trainees stood back with bated breath as he scanned the upper landing, the rocks to either side, the tangled ruin of the village below... He took another step and turned, craning his neck and holding onto his helmet to glance up the face of the mountain above.

"Wait a moment..." he cautioned quietly, and then moved away into the whiteness. The others could only listen to the soft crunch of his boots through the thin snow as they stood behind the threshold.

"Hey, Tuff," Snotlout murmured, twiddling the handle of his mace.

Tuffnut turned his head.

"Can you..." Snotlout cleared his throat, "can you look after Fireworm, while we're gone?"

"What do I look like, your freakin' _babysitter?_" Tuffnut growled. He didn't feel like being anyone's tool today.

Snotlout's brow furrowed dangerously. "Come on, can you just _do _it?" he rasped, grabbing Tuffnut's coat.

Tuffnut looked down at Snotlout's fist, and then back at his face, unmoved.

He twisted away. "Fine, whatever," he sighed, batting his friend's arm aside and starting toward the back of the room. "_Like it matters anyway_," he added under his breath.

A shadow dimmed the room as Spitelout padded back through the doorway. "It seems clear. Ready?" he whispered.

The others must have nodded their heads, but Tuffnut didn't look back to see it. He only heard the old hunter's hushed instruction, "_Quickly now_..." and the groan and soft bump of the closing door as the room was plunged once again into relative darkness.

With no more watching eyes to prod him into productivity, Tuffnut slowed his pace and came to a stop, standing in the middle of the floor, looking at nothing.

Couldn't Snotlout's dragon take care of _itself_ for just a _few measly moments_ anyway? It had done just fine without anybody staring at it in the nighttime. It didn't need _him_ to go and stare at it right _now_.

A weary sigh escaped Tuffnut's lips. Why couldn't he have _just stayed asleep?_

He looked back to the doors and was somehow slightly surprised to see the Jorgensons and Astrid _actually gone_. A chilling silence reigned once more in the Great Hall.

And then Tuffnut caught sight of his Zippleback's tail, peeking out from behind the first pillar... and he remembered.

He made a beeline for where his dragon lay sleeping. There, between its necks, still snuggling under the old blanket, was his sister Ruffnut.

He woke her up with a swift kick in the gut.

Being sure to give her enough time to cough and moan and blink, he refrained from speaking until he was certain she would be conscious enough to understand it. Once her eyes came into focus, he snarled, "What are you _giving away all my shirts _for, huh?"

"_What?_" Ruffnut wheezed, glaring sleepily.

"Why was Astrid wearing my clothes?"

Ruffnut groaned and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. "Because, in case you didn't notice," she hissed, "all of _her_ clothes _flew out the door with her dragon _yesterday, moron."

"I knew _that_," Tuffnut asserted, though in fact he had forgotten. "But why couldn't you just lend her some of _yours?_"

"She liked yours better. _You _weren't using them."

"You could've _asked_," he spat, kicking his sister again.

"Don't _kick _me—" Ruffnut pulled up the blanket and swiped one leg viciously across the floor, knocking Tuffnut's feet out from under him.

He landed on Flint's neck, and the dragon woke up with a shriek. This woke the other head up, and the startled Zippleback stumbled to its feet.

Ruffnut threw off the blanket and lunged at Tuffnut before he could regain his footing to retaliate. Barely avoiding the hulking paws of their dragon as it stomped off toward the back of the Hall, the twins rolled across the floor, struggling in a tangle of fists, boots and long blonde hair.

"You—would—have—said—_no_—_anyway!_" Ruffnut choked out from Tuffnut's headlock.

"_I'm_ the oldest—" Tuffnut started, and then Ruffnut banged his head against the floor, "that means you should _respect_—" and elbowed him in the gut, "—_my_—" and punched him in the face, "—_decisions!_" He kicked her in the shin and grabbed her by the hair, which he _knew_ she hated more than _anything_...

"_Where's Astrid?_" asked an alarmed voice.

The Thorston twins froze as they were, panting slightly, and turned their heads. Hiccup stood staring at them with frantic eyes, his hands held open in front of him, at a loss. Behind him, away on top of the breastwork, Tuffnut could see Fishlegs awake and stirring as well.

Hiccup glanced quickly about the room. "Where's _Spitelout?_" he asked again.

"They went out," Tuffnut grunted, shoving his sister off of him.

"_Outside?_ Well is it _safe? _Are the Skrill gone?" Hiccup went on.

"_I_ don't know, _I_ didn't _check_," Tuffnut retorted, getting to his feet.

"Well did they say anything? How long have they been gone?"

_Would he stop asking questions? _"Yeah, he said you and Fishlegs have to haul all the Skrill out of here and lay them out on the stairs before he gets back."

Hiccup's brow lowered. He didn't look convinced. "Uh-huh, and what are _you _supposed to be doing?"

Tuffnut puffed out his chest importantly. "_I'm_ looking after _Fireworm_. Snotlout asked me to." That was believable enough. And true besides.

Hiccup turned dubiously to Ruffnut, fishing for validation.

Ruffnut didn't miss a beat. "He told _me _to go get some water." She folded her arms with perfect confidence.

Hiccup looked from one twin to the other.

The Thorstons didn't flinch.

The Chief's son finally rolled his eyes in acceptance (or accommodation; Tuffnut couldn't tell which) and turned away with a sigh. "_Great_," he muttered to himself, walking back to the fire pit.

As Hiccup turned his back, the twins exchanged a look of deepest malevolence. It was a ritual expression they shared whenever they had to put off killing each other, and an unspoken promise to get back to it as quickly as possible. Disengaging the death-glare after a moment, Tuffnut moved off toward the back of the room while Ruffnut set about gathering what stray crockery she could find in the disarray of the Hall.

The lanky boy's feet took him deeper into the shadows, up a few stone steps and past another dead Skrill until he stood before the Monstrous Nightmare. Hiccup's dragon was back here too, curled up under one of the bigger dragon's wings. Belch and Flint now lay nearby as well.

The immense red dragon breathed evenly where she lay in the center of an enormous scorch-mark on the stone. She seemed to be asleep. What was he supposed to _do _anyway?

Behind him, Tuffnut could hear the muttering voices of Hiccup and Fishlegs, deliberating over where best to grip a spike-studded Skrill carcass. Punctuating their conversation was the soft _clack _of the wooden vessels Ruffnut was stacking.

He needed to appear busy. He stepped a bit closer...

At his approach, Fireworm's huge nostrils heaved and she exhaled violently. One great, fiery eye opened a slit to take in the newcomer. Then the other eye opened. Then both eyes widened in a fixed, animal stare—a _cat_-stare. Unblinking... and _unnerving_. She gazed directly into the Viking's eyes until Tuffnut almost felt as if his soul were being sucked away.

A low groan came from the door and light flooded into the Hall. Tuffnut pulled his eyes away from the dragon in time to see his sister venturing cautiously outside, a small bucket in one hand and a large bowl in the other.

_Idiot_, Tuffnut thought, _why getting water? _Couldn't she have thought of anything better than that? He didn't like her going outside.

He turned back to Fireworm.

The Nightmare's scaly nose twitched, and Tuffnut could hear the air rushing up and down her long throat until, with another forced exhale and a decidedly disapproving moan, she turned away. Shifting all at once, the whole mountain of her body heaving, her claws scuffing the stone, she twined her massive head around to the other side of her body, nestled it under her wing, and slumped heavily back to the floor. The wind of her sighing blew all the way to the recessed fireplace where it cast a flurry of embers and tattered parchment into the air.

With the dragon facing away from him, Tuffnut could now see the long gashes and puncture-marks along the back of her neck. He furrowed his brow, intrigued, and moved closer.

The holes were _deep_, and scabby on the inside, the dried blood a pitted, crispy black. Across the surface were long lacerations, running jagged lines between some scales and breaking straight through others. Seeping from beneath the broken edges here and there were yellow dribbles of pus.

Tuffnut wondered whether the damaged scales would eventually fall off and be regrown, or if Fireworm would retain them forever. Because if the latter were the case... then those were going to be some seriously awesome scars.

He leaned in _very_ close to inspect one particularly _oozy _wound... and Fireworm burst into flame.

Tuffnut jumped back with a nasty oath, just snuffing out one trailing lock of his hair before too much of it could go up in smoke.

Surprised voices cried out and heads turned at the sudden light and noise. But when Hiccup and Fishlegs saw it was only Fireworm, they turned their attention back to their Skrill. They had tied a rope around its neck and were now attempting to drag it out of the Hall.

The fire's heat pressing against his face and arms, Tuffnut put a bit more distance between himself and the combusting dragon. Across the flames and on the other side he saw Hiccup's Night Fury doing the same, grumpily nosing his way out from under Fireworm's wing and trotting over to the wall, his eyes not quite awake, and his saddle on fire.

The black dragon shook his head and looked listlessly about the room until he spotted his master. With a plaintive croon he started forward.

"Aoh, _Toothless!_" Hiccup yelled when he saw him. He abandoned Fishlegs and the Skrill and hurried toward the back of the room, the _tunk-tunk-tunk _of his prosthesis against the stone boring into Tuffnut's temples and reawakening his headache.

Tuffnut closed his eyes resignedly; it had almost gone away, too.

He turned around and looked on as Hiccup slipped off his vest and threw it over the Night Fury's back, patting it down and smothering the flames. Lifting it up again after a moment the younger Viking swept his hands over the saddle, inspecting the leather all over for damage, tugging at the connections and muttering reassurances to himself.

As he shrugged his vest back over his shoulders, Hiccup went suddenly still, his eyes flicking back and forth over his dragon. "C'mere bud," he finally murmured, leading his Night Fury down the steps.

Tuffnut climbed up onto the table where Snotlout had been sleeping, and had a seat. There really wasn't much else for him to do.

He only watched as Hiccup and Fishlegs exchanged a few words down by a pillar near the door. He couldn't hear much over the _fizzling _of Fireworm's burning skin, but he could see enough to understand what was going on.

They tried to tie one end of the rope onto Toothless' harness, but Toothless didn't seem to like the idea. He took one sniff of the rope and snarled. He even tried to move in and blast the Skrill in the face, but Hiccup stopped him before he could let loose.

Just as Toothless finally slunk away to meander back into the shadows, Ruffnut walked back into the Hall. The two large bowls she carried were heaped with fresh snow from outside. She strode up to the fire pit and set them on the hearth to melt beside a few more bowls and pails, already full and beginning to glisten. She must have been out and back a few times already, Tuffnut realized.

She slowed her pace as she passed the boys to go outside again. They were struggling so arduously with the Skrill carcass that Tuffnut could hear their strained grunting from where he sat, and could almost see the sweat beginning to bead on their foreheads. Apparently the beast was heavier than it looked.

Tuffnut leaned back on the tabletop. He was feeling rather pleased with his chore-dodgery. It was the first good feeling he had had all day. Maybe if he just lay down on the table, pretending to stare at the Monstrous Nightmare long enough... he'd be able to go back to sleep.

It seemed a long shot.

Actually it seemed impossible.

But if he could only _manage _it...

He just wanted to be somewhere where he didn't have to _think_.

Ruffnut still stood by the others. She gestured her hand in their direction, offering help probably. Hiccup looked up and responded with something Tuffnut couldn't hear. And then his metal foot slipped with a ringing scrape, and he hit the floor. He curled up and grabbed his leg as Ruffnut and Fishlegs converged on him.

_Real smooth_, Tuffnut thought, rolling his eyes. There were better ways to get attention. But he didn't suppose he could blame the little gimp for playing to his strengths.

How ironic.

The others helped Hiccup back to his feet, Ruffnut putting on her most nauseating simper, and Tuffnut could watch no more. He brought his legs up onto the table, faced the Nightmare, and stretched out. Resting his head on one arm, he closed his eyes. Fireworm's heat really was kind of soothing... Maybe he wouldn't have trouble getting back to sleep after all...

"Hey Tuff!" called his sister.

_Curse it_. "What do you want?"

"Come help us get these Skrill out."

"I'm watching Fireworm." Only the top of his head would be visible to them. They wouldn't be able to catch him napping.

"She can watch _herself_." Ruffnut's voice seemed a little closer.

"She _likes _having me here," Tuffnut argued.

"I can tell when you're lying."

"When I'm horizontal, yeah, I know."

"It'll be faster with all of us, dimwit," Ruffnut snarled, her voice now _very _close.

Tuffnut opened his eyes. "Yeah well I'm _busy_," he growled.

Ruffnut stormed into his view and took a handful of his tunic. Her voice lowered to a dangerous pitch. "If you don't _get off your backside_ and just _get over there and make yourself useful _then I _swear _when we find Mom and Dad I will—"

"_SHUT UP!_" Tuffnut shoved her away so violently that she fell over backward and skidded across the stone.

Ruffnut propped herself up on one elbow, a look of astonishment on her face. She met Tuffnut's angry gaze with a fury no tongue could utter.

If anything had passed between their eyes at that moment, it would surely have burst into flame.

"_Fine!_" Tuffnut roared, lunging down from the table and striding hotly toward the blasted carcass.

His sister followed him.

When the four of them combined still could not budge the dead Skrill, Fishlegs went back to have a look at it, and found that, hidden under its wing, one of its heel-spurs had caught in a crack in the stone.

Tuffnut slapped his forehead and dragged his hand down his face. He was surrounded by idiots.

Once the spur was dislodged, the Vikings found the body to be quite manageable, and were able to pull it out of the Hall with relative ease. One by one the Skrill were noosed, dragged out the door and lined up on a landing halfway down the stairs outside.

They had a bit of trouble with the one Spitelout had decapitated, having to run the rope instead around its muscular forelegs, puncturing its wing membranes. But in due course the final Skrill was laid out beside its fellows, and the Vikings wiped their hands and turned to go back inside.

Shivering, Fishlegs was the first one back up the steps. Ruffnut and Hiccup took a bit more time, pausing every so often to scan the village all around, scrutinizing every building, searching for movement. For the Jorgensons and Astrid still had not returned.

Having volunteered to untie and collect the rope, Tuffnut remained by the Skrill. As he coiled loops around his arm, his eyes swept over the ruins below as well... but it was only for show. He wanted the others to leave. He wanted to be alone. Or alone _enough_.

He couldn't help it. After puffing it up and down the stairs and moving all those bodies... he really _did _feel hungry.

He winced as he twiddled with the knife at his belt. How _infuriating_... That his stomach could command such attention at a time like this. That _he_ actually considered _catering _to it.

Well, there was plenty of meat right here, and fresher than that Gronckle in the Hall, that was for sure. He found his eyes perusing the nearest carcass, searching out a tender cut beneath the black scales.

But hadn't Fishlegs said they were poisonous? Or was that only if they bit you?

But would it really matter either way?

What if he _died _from this?

That gave him pause.

He looked again toward the rubble near the coast. He could almost see his house from here.

A slight wind moaned mournfully over the rocks.

Well, at least he wouldn't die hungry.

He sliced open a haunch, and was somewhat surprised to find the meat within as white as the skin over it was dark. Its texture was not unlike that of a chicken-leg. A very, very _large _chicken-leg...

Getting his hands only slightly greasy, he cut a generous chunk from the largest muscle, concealed it in the coils of rope, and made his way back up the stairs and into the Hall, closing the doors behind him.

Ruffnut and Hiccup had joined Fishlegs at the back of the room as the stouter boy had begun his own inspection of Fireworm's wounds. The Monstrous Nightmare's skin had finally burned out, giving the Vikings a clear and apparently very _engrossing _view of her scratches.

Thankfully this left the fire pit completely abandoned. However, the glow of its flames could no longer be seen.

Tuffnut climbed up onto the hearth, carefully depositing the rope on the boards beside him so as to keep his snack safely hidden, and had a look. Sure enough, the embers left over from last night were all but dead. He tried to blow them into life again but only succeeded in throwing up a fine cloud of ash. The gangly boy finally reached his long arm down, grabbed an unburned portion of bench, and climbed back to the floor to seek out his dragon.

His steps took him past the Gronckle again. Speck appeared to have finally had his fill, and now lay dozing a short distance away from the dead dragon's tail.

_Toothless_, however, looked like he was just getting started on one of the hind legs. The black dragon turned his great head as Tuffnut passed and _rumbled_, glaring like he knew something.

"_What?_" Tuffnut snapped, and continued toward the back of the Hall.

He found Flint and held the piece of wood in front of the dragon's nose. "_Strike_," he commanded.

But Flint took one whiff of Tuffnut's outstretched hand and recoiled, chittering nervously.

"Come on, _strike_, you big slug!" Tuffnut walked toward his dragon as it backed into a corner. "_Strike_, Flint."

"Give me that," Ruffnut hissed, coming from behind and swiping the wood from Tuffnut's grasp. She approached the Zippleback daintily. "Come here Flinty baby..." she crooned, "Can you light this on fire for me? Strike it? Striiiike _it?_"

Her sugary inflections nearly made Tuffnut vomit.

At length Flint opened wide his jaws and spat out a small shower of sparks. It took a few tries, but eventually a small flame took to one corner of the piece of bench in Ruffnut's hand.

"Oh _good boyyyyy_," she purred, scratching the dragon vigorously under the chin.

She turned to hand the firebrand back to Tuffnut, her mien shifting instantly back to that of a hydrophobic troll. "Maybe if you'd _bathe_ once in a while they wouldn't be so _offended _by you," she suggested, all the honey gone from her voice and only the bee stings left over.

"Pity it's only working on _them_ and not _you_," Tuffnut glared, taking back the wood.

Ruffnut wrinkled her nose at his touch. "What's that slime on your hands?"

"Sorry," said Tuffnut nastily, "I sneezed."

His sister scoffed in disgust and walked hurriedly away.

After rekindling the fire and adding a bit more wood to the pit, Tuffnut had no trouble locating a decent spit among the debris in the Hall. He settled himself on the hearth, his back to the others, and let his legs dangle over the edge and down into the middle, warming his toes. No one paid him any attention as he cut up and skewered his meat and set it to roast over the low flames. They were too occupied with Snotlout's dragon, and that was fine with him. He could tell Snotlout later that yes, Fireworm _was_ looked after while he was away. Maybe not by _him_... But Snotlout didn't need to know everything.

Sitting still again with nothing to do but occasionally inspect his meat, Tuffnut found himself again and again bursting into his home, feeling the darkness around him, and confronting the deserted table... only to return to his senses every few moments and catch himself staring into the flames.

By and by he set the spit with its meat down inside the fire pit, leaning it against the stones to cook and freeing his restless hands to reach under his coat and inside his vest. He drew out his ring and held it before him, giving it a long and pensive look.

It sat cold and heavy in his palm. The weightiness of it always surprised him, no matter how many times he held it. Light from the ceiling and the fire glinted off the small hammer design and warrior motif. The eyes of the bearded figure looked almost alive.

He rushed through his doorway and into his house again. There was the table. But everything was so _dark_. His every footfall sending a creak through the floorboards, he had started forward so slowly, _so convinced _that he would not find himself alone after all.

The shadowy interior had been hesitant to reveal itself as his eyes had adjusted. He hadn't been able to make it past the first chair. But he didn't need to.

Toothless snorted angrily.

Tuffnut looked down and sniffed. His Skrill meat was burning.

Back went his ring into his vest as he grabbed up the spit to have a look at his lunch. The color had not improved much; the flesh had gone from a pearly, creamy white to a rather off-putting light grey. The greasy smell likewise left something to be desired. But Tuffnut's mouth watered as he pinched and prodded the meat, checking whether it had cooked quite all the way through.

He pulled off a little piece, the grain of the muscle separating smoothly and evenly. The same grey color ran throughout the whole of it, streaked here and there with lighter and darker shades.

It didn't _look _dangerous...

He smelled it once, and popped it into his mouth.

The initial taste was sharp, and oily. Tuffnut's cheeks burned and prickled with the sudden activity of chewing after having gone for so long without food. He sucked on the mass in his mouth for a bit, rolling it over his tongue, and then swallowed it.

Aside from a slightly slicker texture and a salty aftertaste... it tasted just like chicken.

Tuffnut popped another piece into his mouth. If he'd known it would be this bearable—this _good_—he would have cut off the whole leg.

The pieces went all too quickly, and he soon found himself fingering the last hunk of it, when Fishlegs' voice sounded suddenly behind him.

"What's _that?_" the portly Viking whispered in shock and longing.

Tuffnut looked over his shoulder. His sister and Hiccup were still sitting back by Fireworm, out of earshot. But Fishlegs was walking round the fire pit, slowly coming to a stop where Tuffnut would more easily be able to see him.

Tuffnut was too tired to conjure up any clever lies just now; the truth could do here. Besides, Fishlegs was harmless. What _that_ kid knew wouldn't hurt _anybody_. "Skrill," he grunted.

Fishlegs' eyes widened even further. "Tuffnut are you _crazy?_" he squeaked under his breath, "Skrill have a toxicity level of _thirteen_. What if you get sick?"

"Okay, I don't even understand what you just said," Tuffnut grumbled, "But I'm not sick. See?" He turned his torso toward the other boy, holding wide his arms. Surely he looked just fine. "They're only poisonous if they bite you, right?"

Fishlegs looked uncertain, though his brow still contracted with concern. "Well, I—"

The doors burst open with a bang and a groan. Tuffnut threw the last piece of Skrill into his mouth and quickly swallowed it whole.

But there was no danger of being spotted by Spitelout. Spitelout was otherwise occupied. He was carrying Astrid _bodily _into the room. Trailing frantically at his elbow was Snotlout, burdened by the weapons of all three of them.

Pull and scratch as she might, Astrid could not displace the meaty hand clamped over her mouth. Nor for all the furious kicking of her legs could she jar the hold of the powerful arm around her waist. Her feet swung and flailed, straining to reach the ground.

"_Close the doors_," Spitelout growled, and Snotlout ran back and complied at once.

All other noise in the Hall had ceased. Even the dragons seemed to pause and turn their heads. All eyes were fixed upon the struggling, twisting girl held tightly to Spitelout's chest as he strode briskly deeper into the room.

Astrid's muffled cries were broken only by the odd, jagged intake of breath through her nose. Dark mud covered her shins and dotted her bracers. Her dirty hair clung to the wetness of her face as hot tears streamed down both her cheeks.

"What's going on?" Ruffnut demanded.

Spitelout didn't answer. He didn't even slow down.

Tuffnut exchanged an unsettled look with Fishlegs, and then hopped down from the hearth. Both boys followed their mentor (from a safe distance) as he made for the back of the room.

The old hunter didn't stop until he reached the recessed fireplace, the deepest point in the Hall, whereupon he set Astrid down on her feet and turned her to face him, her back against the wall.

"_Let me go!_" Her hoarse and shuddering voice _exploded _through the Hall like a forge-hammer through ice, causing Fireworm to jump and burst into a weak flame.

And then she sank to the floor with a moan.

Spitelout sank with her, his hands still tight about her shoulders. "_Astrid_," he steadily raised his voice, "Astrid _listen to me_—"

"_No_—" she grabbed at his tunic, his cloak, his bracers, fighting to get away.

"_Astrid!_" Spitelout shook her harshly, and her head banged against the stone behind her.

Tuffnut and Fishlegs slowed their approach and fell in, deathly silent, beside Ruffnut and Hiccup, forming a pallid semicircle.

"_Oh Odin_... _Oh Odin_..." Astrid covered her face with her hands.

Spitelout turned to face the spectators.

His eyes could have destroyed them all.

"HAVEN'T YOU LOT GOT ANYTHING BETTER TO DO?" he roared, and the onlookers fled.

"_Let me go_—" Astrid's sobbing moan echoed through the room again as the four young hunters retreated down the steps and toward the door.

None of them spoke. Their eyes only flicked here and there among themselves, sharing precarious glances as they grouped near a distant pillar, all of them eventually fastening their gazes once again upon the scene at the back of the Hall.

"Astrid, if you want to go back there—_Astrid_—if you want to go back you need to _stop this_..." Spitelout was saying.

Fireworm's skin began to gutter out, slowly sinking the deep corner and its two striving figures into shadow.

"Tuff," said Snotlout quietly.

Tuffnut turned around. So in turn did everyone else after a moment.

Snotlout still stood by the table near the doors where he had deposited his mace and the two axes. "How's Fireworm doing?" he asked. Only his mouth seemed to pose the question; his hardened eyes seemed preoccupied with darker things. Inquiring after Fireworm's health had been reduced to a requisite pleasantry.

But Tuffnut could tell his friend _was _still concerned for his mount, on some level.

Fishlegs beat him to the answer. "Her wounds aren't bleeding anymore, but they look infected," peeped the large boy, "I think that's why she keeps flaming herself... to burn it out, you know? Like she would for dragon-lice?"

"Is she all right, Tuff?" Snotlout asked again.

"_I DON'T CARE!_" Astrid screamed.

"_ASTRID LOOK AT ME!_" Spitelout bellowed.

The young Vikings trembled, slowly prying their eyes away from the sucking darkness of the back of the Hall and turning to face each other again.

"Yeah," said Tuffnut stiffly, "Yeah, she's all right." He numbly voiced the required response. But his eyes aligned with Snotlout's in a separate and completely silent dialogue wherein, in all honesty, not much information was able to be exchanged.

"Snotlout, what's going on?" Ruffnut whispered, "What happened?"

Snotlout's lips parted and he drew a breath as if to speak... only to slowly release it again.

"What did you see?" Hiccup murmured.

Snotlout swallowed. He looked from one person to the next, attempting at every breath to say _something_, but only ever following through with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

Fishlegs was quietly hyperventilating. Hiccup's metal foot _tunked _uneasily against the stone. Ruffnut slipped her hand up onto Tuffnut's shoulder.

His sister only ever did that when she was afraid. But she didn't know he knew that.

"Snotlout?" Hiccup prodded.

Snotlout visibly steeled himself to speak, and Tuffnut turned away. He didn't need to hear the answer. He already knew it.

He had known it from the first sounding of Astrid's voice.

"It's... it's her parents," Snotlout finally croaked.

Ruffnut gasped and covered her mouth.

"There were pyres," said Snotlout, "Lots of pyres."

Tuffnut closed his eyes as Astrid's sobbing shuddered through the Hall once more.


End file.
